


Take Time to Realize

by orangeiguanas4



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, Romance, Teen Angst, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 137,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeiguanas4/pseuds/orangeiguanas4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn's family moves to Lima to give her a new start. She gets everything she dreamed about, including a friendship with Santana Lopez. What will happen as the lines of friendship are blurred and go against the beliefs that Quinn held from her old life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror. Lucy is gone and the only familiar feature are the sad hazel eyes staring back at me. My newly dyed blonde hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail and my eyes look brighter without clunky glasses covering them. Frannie helped me with my makeup although I don’t understand why I need to wear it to a cheerleading tryout where I’m going to sweat it off anyway. But Frannie insisted and considering she was the captain of her own cheerleading squad in high school, I reluctantly agree.

Even my clothes have changed. There’s no longer a need for baggy sweaters to cover my embarrassing rolls. I’m in a black sports bra and I can actually see my abs reflecting back in the mirror. Working out all summer has led up to this moment. Next week I’ll start high school at McKinley as Quinn Fabray and I’m determined to enter those halls as a Cheerio.

I stand in the back of the crowd of girls on the middle of the football field. They all seem to know each other and I am the outcast. Fortunately, this isn’t a new feeling for me because I’ve never quite fit in. But the looks I’m getting are much different than the ones I had gotten as Lucy. They take in my fit figure and even seem a little intimidated by my perfect posture and emotionless expression, another feature I mastered while being bullied for the last ten years of my life.

Sue Sylvester is a terrified woman. The other girls seem familiar with her from their years as junior Cheerios and from watching their older sisters cheer. Coach was screaming into a megaphone even though we were only mere feet away from her and I willed myself to stand like a statue, refusing to wince away from her screams.

Most of the other girls winced and stumbled back away from her, but I was determined to not move. Coach Sylvester stared right into my eyes and I didn’t break the gaze, even though I could feel the beads of sweat dripping down my face from the stress.

“What’s your name, blondie?” she barked at me a few minutes later and I didn’t hesitate in my response. It was the first time someone had asked me to introduce myself since I changed.

“I’m Quinn. Quinn Fabray.”

“Well, Fabray, let’s see what you’ve got.” And then my career as a Cheerio began. If I had been paying more attention, I would have noticed the Latina girl standing to my right, looking furious and impressed all at once.

Tryouts were grueling. I came home every afternoon and forced myself to eat something and shower before I passed out across my bed. All of my focus was on becoming a Cheerio. Junior Varsity wasn’t even an option. If I was going to reinvent myself, it was going to take more than a well-performed nose job, weight loss, and a pair of contact lenses. I needed instant popularity and that meant making the Varsity squad as a freshman.

On the fifth and final day of tryouts, I was the first person on the football field. I popped my headphones into my ears and let Florence and the Machine flow through me as I stretched my sore muscles. My eyes were closed as I reached for my toes and I jumped when someone pulled the ear bud from my ear.

“Good taste, Fabray.” The voice was stiff, taunting. I felt my insecurities from being Lucy creep right back into me. I had to remind myself that I was no longer that scared, unpopular girl.

“And who are you to have any opinion anyway?” I replied snarkily. Years of being a Fabray was proving helpful, even though I had always tried to not succumb to intimidation like the rest of my family.

“Santana Lopez. Head junior Cheerio and top bitch of the freshman class.”

“Well, enjoy it while it lasts because there’s going to be a new person on top before you can even get your Cheerio uniform on.” I was amazed by myself. Frannie’s training obviously went deeper than my intense makeover.

“I was hoping you would say that,” replied Santana with a sly grin. She walked back towards her duffel bag and sat down to tie her sneakers, sitting very close to a tall blonde girl that I knew was named Brittany. I was intrigued by the Latina. I wanted to know her.

My mom squealed with delight and grabbed her camera when I appeared at the bottom of the staircase on my first day of school. My hair was in a perfect high ponytail and curled so it bounced against my shoulder. The tight red polyester top of my Varsity Cheerio uniform hugged my new slim body and the short skirt flounced playfully on my thighs, the pleats leaving little to the imagination.

“Luc – I mean Quinnie, I’m so proud of you,” she said, taking my picture as I propped my hands on my hips in a power stance. I bent down and tied my brand new white tennis shoes before grabbing the red and white backpack from the foyer and headed out to the bus stop.

There were only two other people at the stop: a tall, lanky boy that looked terrified and Santana Lopez, who was also wearing her Cheerio uniform. Only the two of us and Brittany had made Varsity from the freshman class.

“I didn’t know you lived in this part of town, Fabray,” she said conversationally, obviously interested since the Fabrays lived in the nicest part of Lima since they had moved at the beginning of the summer.

“Only moved here a few months ago, I lived a couple of towns over before.” I was being nicer than I had been the other morning on the football field.

The bus pulled up and I let the boy and Santana get on first. I didn’t know if I should try to sit with her. I had never had anybody to sit with on the bus before, so usually I sat by myself and read a book.

“Yo, Fabray! Back here!” Santana called from near the back of the bus. I smiled, but soon settled my face in indifference, pretending like I was used to being invited to hang out with the popular kids in the back of the bus.

Santana introduced me to half a dozen people, but I just characterized them by looks instead of names. There were three guys in letterman jackets: crew cut, mohawk, and baby face. Crew cut was sitting by himself in a seat. Mohawk and baby face were squished into a seat together, seemingly by Santana’s demand. There were two girls I recognized from Cheerio tryouts. They were sophomore girls named Meredith and Stacy. Both wore permanent smirks, but nodded shortly in my direction in greeting before going back to whispering to one another.

The ride to McKinley was short and I couldn’t remember anything that Santana had told me about McKinley. I just knew that I should stick close to her and everything would work out fine.

Eyes followed us as we walked down the hall and I gulped at all of the attention. I had made it a habit to avoid attracting any attention to myself for years, but I had to quickly remind myself that I was no longer Lucy.

Santana pointed at my locker and continued a few feet down the hallway to her own. I was grateful to have someone looking out for me because I was overwhelmed by all of the unfamiliar faces and the sheer size of the high school compared to my old tiny middle school. It took me three tries to get my combination right and have my locker pop open with a metallic click.

I unzipped my backpack and unloaded my supplies: a neat stack of color-coded notebooks and binders and a perfectly organized pencil case. Santana appeared next to my locker, her backpack slung over one shoulder and Brittany hovering excitedly by her side.

“Neat freak much, Q?” asked Santana playfully, looking at the contents of my locker. I blushed deeply at her judgment and at the nickname she had just given me.

I shrugged and closed the door, leaving just one all-purpose notebook and a pen in my backpack and clutched the card with my homeroom assignment printed on it.

Santana grabbed my card and looked at the room number before shoving it back into my palm.

“You’re in the room right next to mine. C’mon we can walk together.” I walked silently beside Santana, wondering if this girl was meant to be my new friend. She linked pinkies casually with Brittany as they walked.

She stopped abruptly a few doors early and turned to Brittany.

“I’ll meet you here after homeroom, B. Wait for me, okay?” Santana said seriously to the blonde girl, talking to her in a soft voice that I hadn’t heard come from Santana before. 

I was intrigued by the interaction, but I averted my gaze to the passing crowds to act like I wasn’t eavesdropping. I saw Brittany fling her arms around Santana’s neck and hug her before skipping into classroom.

Santana walked back at me and continued down the hall with me in tow. She glared at kids that she obviously considered losers and I noticed how many people moved out of our way, seemingly just at the sight of our uniforms. Despite the crowds, it took mere seconds until I was standing at my classroom door.

“I’ll see you later I guess,” I said awkwardly, looking at the toes of my sneakers. Santana pushed a piece of paper into my palm.

“That’s my number. Text me when you get your schedule so we can see if we have class together. If not, I’ll see ya at lunch.” With a little wave, she turned on her heel and walked to the next-door over and disappeared into it with a swish of her skirt. My eyes followed her until she was gone before I walked into my own classroom.

Boys were tossing a football between themselves across the room and girls gossiped, their heads bent close together. I picked a seat halfway towards the back near the windows and slid into it. My fingers itched to pull my copy of Pride and Prejudice out of my backpack, but I refrained, not wanting to look like a nerd. It wasn’t something that Quinn would do.

The bell rang and the class settled into seats and the teacher walked into the room wearing a plaid shirt, gray tie, and matching gray vest over it. His hair was gelled back and his chiseled cheekbones were emphasized by his enormous, enthusiastic smile. 

The teacher introduced himself as Mr. Schuster, but told us we could call him Mr. Schue. He seemed pretty cool and I waited patiently for him to reach my name as he passed out our schedules.

I raised my hand timidly when he called my name and I silently thanked my mom for remembering to register me as Quinn rather than Lucy so I wouldn’t have to explain.

My schedule was all honors classes, which wasn’t all surprising. Lucy had always had a lot of time to spend on schoolwork, so my grades were nearly perfect coming into McKinley. 

I had never had friends to text during class, but I slipped my phone from my backpack and punched in Santana’s number before sending her a copy of my schedule. I was surprised when she responded immediately that we had all of the same classes. Santana hadn’t seemed like the honors student type, but I told myself that I shouldn’t judge people by what they looked like. Quinn Fabray probably didn’t look like an honors student either, but she really wasn’t, Lucy was.

The bell rang to dismiss us from homeroom and Santana was already standing outside my classroom when I emerged.

“I need to walk Britt to class. She gets lost easily,” said Santana simply in greeting and I just nodded as I followed her back to Brittany’s classroom. The bubbly blonde was flitting near the door where Santana had left her and she immediately linked her pinky with Santana’s as the Latina led the way to Brittany’s next class.

I smiled at their backs. They were obviously the best of friends and it was everything I had ever hoped for in my own life. I hoped there was room for one more in their little union because I wanted to be Santana Lopez’s friend.

The day went by in a whirlwind. Classes were harder than they had been in middle school, but Santana passed me random notes when she would get bored and I could hardly contain my excitement at having someone to sit with. I stood by idly as she intimidated random other freshmen in the hallways that seemed to bother her and I trailed her as we picked up Brittany and dropped her at the next class before heading to our own.

Cheerio practice was right after school today and I walked to the locker room with Santana and Brittany. Santana told crude jokes that seemed to go over Brittany’s head, but I laughed because I was being included, even though most of them actually grossed me out.

For the first time, I didn’t sit silently by myself during water breaks. Santana and Brittany were always there, complaining about Sylvester or pointing out specific boys on the football team that were practicing nearby.

My mom was waiting in her Lexus SUV outside of the gym when I emerged and I hopped into the passenger seat with a bounce despite the grueling practice Coach Sylvester had just put us through.

“How was your first day?” she asked as we pulled away from the curb and headed in the direction of the expensive end of town where our small mansion sat.

“Amazing,” I breathed and filled her in on most of the details. For the second time that day, my mom told me she was proud of me.

The rest of the week went basically the same way. I slowly learned the names of Santana’s friends and the hierarchy of McKinley. Being a Cheerio put us near the top immediately, but Santana had already established a strong reputation through middle school and Quinn was able to latch onto it with their new friendship.

Friday night was their first football game. Quinn stood in the locker room, her uniform recently dry cleaned and pressed. The white ribbon in her hair was tied perfectly. But her nerves were out of control. 

“You look like you’re about to piss yourself, Q,” teased Santana from behind me. I forced myself to stop my pacing and turn to face her, keeping myself as emotionless as possible.

“Just nervous you guys are going to drop me. I like how my face looks without it being broken.”

“There’s a party at one of the football guy’s house after the game. B is going to sleepover afterwards and she made me promise to invite you too,” Santana said, rolling her eyes. Quinn swallowed heavily.

“I don’t have to come if you don’t want me there,” I said meekly, trying to keep my composure. I had thought that Santana wanted to be my friend, but she didn’t seem excited by the idea of me staying at her house too.

“I don’t deny B her wishes and she wants you to sleepover. Call your mom or whatever because I’m not going to let her down.” Santana left the locker room and I stood there with my mouth agape. 

I did as I was told and called my mother. She seemed excited that I had been invited to sleepover a friend’s house and agreed immediately. I didn’t tell her about the party.

My nerves grew throughout the game. It became obvious immediately that the fans had come to see the Cheerios because the football team was simply terrible. They got booed on almost every play and I could feel the eyes on me as I got thrown into the air over and over.

We all showered quickly in the locker room. I was still self-conscious about this ritual and I got it over with as fast as possible before changing into the clothes I had packed in my duffel bag. 

I was sitting on the bench outside the locker room and Santana emerged with Brittany in tow half an hour later. Her mom greeted Brittany and Santana happily as they climbed into the car and turned to face me. I introduced myself in true Fabray fashion. Parents typically loved me immediately and Mrs. Lopez was no exception.

We swung by my house and I stuffed my toothbrush and my least embarrassing pajamas into a bag before yelling goodbye to my mom and running back to the idling car. She pulled into Santana’s driveway mere minutes later at a house only two blocks away from my own.

Santana led the way to her bedroom through the impressive foyer and up the expansive extra-wide staircase. It was easily just as nice as my own house, although it felt more welcoming than mine did.

I was surprised by Santana’s bedroom. She had tons of posters for various bands plastered onto her cream colored walls. Clothes littered the floor near her closet and hung from her laundry bin haphazardly. Her comforter was a deep maroon and contrasted nicely with the light walls and wooden floors.

She told me to drop my stuff wherever I wanted so I put it neatly into the corner next to her desk. Brittany immediately sprawled out across Santana’s bed casually. She beckoned me over with a warm smile and I perched on the edge of the bed beside her. Santana was rifling through the bottom of her closet and gave a little grunt of triumph as she emerged with a half-full bottle of vodka in her hand.

My eyes went wide at the site of the liquor. I had never tasted the stuff before, but Frannie had told me plenty of stories from when she was in high school and during her freshman year of college. I tried to not look as scared as I felt.

“The guys are going to pick us up in an hour, so we have some time to warm up before we go,” she said with a shrug, opening her desk drawer and pulling out three shot glasses. She lined them up on her desk and poured them before passing one to Brittany and I. My hands were shaking and I willed them to steady before I spilled the liquid onto my lap.

“To new friends!” exclaimed Brittany and raised her glass for Santana and I to clink ours against. We mumbled her toast before tipping the glass to our lips simultaneously and allowing the liquor to drain down our throats.

I coughed like the inexperienced drinker I was and my cheeks went red immediately.

“First shot, Q?” asked Santana with a smirk. I gave an embarrassed nod. She reached into her bag and tossed me a half-empty Diet Coke and I took a swig, appreciating the relief from the burning sensation that had taken over my throat.

“The first always burns the worst,” said Brittany expertly. She reached over and squeezed my hand affectionately and I smiled at her. I was amazed that she and Santana were best friends because they were so drastically different.

We took two more shots before the boys pulled up. The room shook uncomfortably when I stood up and I swayed on my feet. Santana and Brittany each grasped one of my arms and led me down the stairs and quickly past Mrs. Lopez. The three of us climbed into the back seat of the junior boy’s car. He introduced himself as Tim and I gave a little hello, trying to get control of my fuzzy head. The vodka had taken full affect by this point and I couldn’t deny that I was most definitely drunk.

Brittany clung to my arm and led me into the house where loud music was playing. There were a ton of people milling around the main parts of the house and I recognized a couple faces from the hallways at school, but most of them were complete strangers. I was grateful for Brittany’s tight grasp and Santana pulled us through the room, calling hellos to people as we passed. 

Before I knew it, I was standing in the middle of the living room that was obviously being used as a makeshift dance floor. Brittany’s hips were moving with the beat of the song and she forced me to move along with her. Santana settled in behind Brittany, her hands on the blonde’s hips and moving easily along with her. I let myself get lost in the music as well, my eyes closing and my body moving. They only shot open when I felt somebody press against my back.

“Get lost, Puckerman!” said Santana seething and the mohawk boy from our bus backed away, his hands raised in defeat. I gave Santana a smile of appreciation and she winked at me. It gave me a funny butterfly feeling in my stomach.

I actually sobered up before we returned to Santana’s house that night. After the vodka shots in her bedroom, I only had one mixed drink, but my head was pounding with a developing hangover.

We changed into our pajamas, Brittany pulling hers from the bottom drawer of Santana’s dresser that obviously housed her own stash of extra clothes. Brittany laid in the middle of the king-sized bed and told me that I could have the right side because Santana always slept on the left.

The bed was plenty big enough, but I had only ever slept like this with my sister and I laid under the blanket trying to avoid touching Brittany. She pulled me closer until my hand was rest on her stomach. I could feel Santana’s warm hand brush against mine and I shivered.

“You know, we’re like the Trinity. Except we’re totally Unholy,” said Brittany, pulling us even closer.

“You’re right, B. Welcome to the Unholy Trinity, Q.” I knew then that this night was just the first of many.

The fall semester of freshman year flew by. By the time Thanksgiving break rolled around, I felt completely at home in the halls of McKinley. Santana and I easily ruled the freshman class and a good portion of the rest of the school as well. Brittany happily flounced along with us as students parted from us in the hallways, avoiding meeting the eyes of the two most intimidating girls at school.

At first, I felt guilty that I was acting like so many of my prior tormentors had. But it was hard to deny the rush that came from being on top. We never had to worry about getting the best table in the cafeteria and we were always invited to the hottest social events. Boys fawned over us and Santana and Brittany entertained them in strings throughout those first few months. I stayed out of it for the most part, still preferring a quiet night curled up with a book to the drunken nights of high school. I would never admit it and I tagged along to the frequent Friday night parties, allowing the upperclassmen boys dance with me for a while before leaving them cold at the end of the night without so much as a goodnight kiss.

My reputation built quickly: Quinn Fabray was the icy freshman cheerleader that could hold her vodka but stuck hard to her good girl Christian ideals. I was a challenge, a prize to be won and nobody had even come close to being successful.

Wednesday was the last day of school before the break and I met Santana at the bus stop wearing my winter Cheerio coat and shivering in the frigid air. The lanky boy, a sophomore named Toby I came to find out later, kept his distance from us as usual. He had been Santana’s next-door neighbor for years, but he was terrified to meet her eyes like most of the people at school.

“Party tonight at Tim’s. You in, Q?” she asked me, scuffing her sneakers against the slushy snow on the curb.

“Yeah, definitely,” I replied without hesitation. 

I rarely said no, determined to keep my reputation up with frequent appearances. Plus, a party night meant a sleepover at either Santana’s or Brittany’s house. I loved their houses more than my own. They were welcoming and their parents treated me like I was one of their own. We rarely slept over my own house because I knew my parents wouldn’t be okay with us going out to parties all over town and returning drunk, then collapsing in bed together. I had invited them over a couple of times, but it was blaringly obvious that the Fabray home wasn’t one of love and we did our best to avoid it.

“We’re sleeping at my place tonight. No Cheerios this afternoon because of break, so we can take the bus home and you can just walk over whenever you’re ready.”

The ugly yellow bus pulled up just then and I wrinkled my nose at it. I would get my license in the spring at the end of next year and knowing my family that meant I’d have a car at my disposal. It was the only thought that made riding the smelly bus every day bearable.

We hopped off the bus that afternoon, our bags heavy with homework. Santana was moaning about all of the work teachers gave us when we were supposed to be having a vacation and I couldn’t help but agree. Brittany had taken the bus home with us and didn’t even have a backpack with her. I was convinced Brittany didn’t actually do any schoolwork and she was in all remedial classes.

I waved goodbye and promised to be over as soon as I could escape. They understood, knowing how things could be at my house.

Luck was in my favor that night and my parents had a dinner thing with my dad’s boss, so they were quick to give me permission to go to Santana’s without even sitting down for dinner. I threw my typical supplies into my Cheerio bag and walked the couple of blocks up to the Lopez house.

I didn’t bother knocking on Santana’s door when I reached the top of the stairs. I pushed the door open about to announce my arrival, but instead I was rendered speechless. Brittany was straddling Santana’s legs and their mouths were working against one another. I could see their tongues dancing against one another and I heard Santana moan softly at something Brittany was obviously doing to her.

I let out a little squeak of surprise after a long, awkward moment of silence. Santana’s eyes snapped open and she shoved Brittany off of her when she saw me standing in the doorway.

“Hey, Q! We didn’t think you’d be over until after dinner!” said Brittany excitedly, bounding across the room and throwing her arms around my neck in a loose hug. I stood there, not sure what to say. What I had just witnessed went completely against everything I had ever heard during long Sundays spent in church. Yet it looked so natural. I had never even kissed a boy, but I felt a burning deep in my stomach at what I had just witnessed.

“It’s not what it looked like,” mumbled Santana, straightening her uniform and fixing her ponytail before marching into her private bathroom and slamming the door behind her.

“Don’t worry about Sanny. She doesn’t want anybody to know that she gives me sweet lady kisses sometimes, but I know you won’t tell anybody, Q.” I tried to give the innocent blonde a reassuringly smile, but it came out more as a forced grimace.

Santana emerged half an hour later, showered and wrapped only in a towel. I had seen her like that a million times after Cheerios practice, but it felt like everything was heightened. I forced myself to look somewhere other than at Santana’s tanned thighs that were peeking out from the bottom of her navy blue towel.

“Quinn knows that our sweet lady kisses are a secret. She promises not to tell anybody, Sanny,” said Brittany, the innocence dripping from her voice and I noticed the small smile that ghosted across Santana’s lips at Brittany.

Santana responded by pulling a bottle of rum out from under her bed and thrusting it into my hands.

“I think this night needs to start with shots,” she said simply and I opened the desk drawer and extracted the shot glasses. I agreed with her silently, but was too scared of Santana’s wrath to speak aloud.

We were already drunk by the time Puck and his buddy picked us up. I clung to Brittany’s arm as we piled into the SUV. Santana was even more drunk than me, which was a first. I was surprised when I felt her pinky link with mine instead of Brittany’s.

As soon as we got to the party, Santana disappeared into the crowd. I took my time walking in, saying hello to those considered on my level of popularity and basically ignoring everybody else. I let Puck mix me a drink and gave in when Brittany dragged me into the next room to dance. We were dancing together, closer than normal, but it felt nice. I could see Santana across the room with a senior boy’s tongue down her throat. The sight made me scowl, but I wasn’t sure why. I knew that it wasn’t that she was cheating on Brittany because Brittany was now making out with a random guy too. It almost felt like jealousy. My friends were so relaxed and able to enjoy anything and anybody around them and I was uptight. 

So when Tim, the host, came up behind me and started dancing, I didn’t shrug him off. I spun around after a few minutes to face him and he gave me a goofy grin, slipping his arm around my waist and keeping me close. When he bent down and pushed his lips against mine, I didn’t push him away. I let them brush roughly against mine for a few moments until he opened his mouth and I felt his tongue trying to push between my lips. Internally, I freaked out, but I let my lips part slightly, granting him access. It was wet and sloppy and not at all like the fairy tales I had read a million times.

“Get some, Q!” squealed Brittany from her perch on random guy's leg on the couch. My friend’s voice pulled me out of the moment and I pulled away from Tim. He still was sporting that awful goofy grin and I felt disgusted. I glared at him and left the room.

Santana appeared right behind me when I slipped out the sliding glass door and stood alone on the back deck. She hugged my shoulders and held me as a couple of tears slid down my cheeks.

“What that your first kiss, Q?” she asked in the soft voice that usually was reserved for Britt. My silence answered her question clearly.

“Can we go home, San?” I whispered. Brittany appeared on the deck and a silent conversation between the two of them ended in me being led through the yard and into a car. I was in the middle of them and I didn’t recognize the girl behind the wheel, but I didn’t question it.

Before I could comprehend it, I was lying on my back in Santana’s bed on the right side like always. My hand rested on Brittany’s stomach and I could feel her steady breathing. Santana’s fingers interlocked with me and it was comforting. I fell asleep feeling safe.

Frannie came home for Thanksgiving. She babbled on about her sophomore year at Stanford and my father acted like the golden child had made her return. Despite all of the changes since my Lucy days, Frannie would always be dad’s favorite.

The Saturday after Thanksgiving, my parents went to visit some friends and I invited Santana and Brittany over. Brittany had family things, but Santana came over. We watched movie after movie in my family den, our feet tucked into one another and the bowl of popcorn balanced between us.

“What freaked you out so badly about kissing Tim?” she asked me, again in her gentle voice. We hadn’t talked about that night at all.

“I don’t know. It felt like the completely wrong way to have a first kiss. I guess I always thought it would be like they make it seem in movies and books.”

Santana rubbed her feet against mine. They were freezing and I tossed a throw blanket over them. She smiled appreciatively.

“What was your first kiss like?” I asked. Santana never talked about feelings, so I knew I was pushing my luck. She stared at the TV for a few minutes and I figured she was just going to ignore my question.

“It was perfect. Soft and sensual and explosive all at the same time.” She continued to stare off. “It was with Britt.” My jaw dropped a little but I recovered quickly.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t knock or whatever that night,” I mumbled.

“It’s no big deal. We just kind of fell into a routine after the first time. I don’t think it means anything.”

“Do you want it to?” I inquired.

“We’re both girls in Lima, Q. Of course I don’t want it to.” I nodded in agreement.

“I wish my first kiss had been like that,” I said quietly, playing with my own fingers. Santana moved closer to me and tipped my chin up so that I was looking into her deep chocolate eyes. They were softer than I was used to seeing them. My heart fluttered as her thumb stroked my cheek softly and started racing as her face slowly moved closer to mine. I let her come to me and when her lips met mine, I felt everything she had described about her own first kiss.

It was short, but incredibly perfect. I could taste her lip-gloss on my own lips and her face was still close enough that I could feel her warmth breath against my face.

“Quinnie…” The voice of my sister rang out loud in the quiet room.


	2. Chapter 1

Santana sat statuesque on the couch as I whipped my head around. My elder sister was standing in the doorway of the living room looking absolutely dumbstruck. She turned and disappeared down the hallway and I followed my instinct and chased her into her bedroom.

“What the hell are you playing at, Quinn?” Frannie spat at me as she paced in her bedroom.

“Fran, it’s not what it looked like,” I said to her, pleading for her to understand.

“It looked like you committing a major sin for some ridiculous experimentation period that you teenagers feel compelled to engage in.”

“I don’t know what it was! I was upset and it just happened!”

“Things like that don’t just happen, Quinn. You’re smarter than this! You’re letting yourself be manipulated by that girl who’s obviously just looking for a cheap thrill.”

“It’s not going to happen again, Frannie,” I mumbled, willing myself to not want to ever do it again, but the taste of Santana’s lip-gloss on my lips made me so tempted to leave Frannie and head back to that couch to pick up where I left off. “Just please don’t tell Mom and Dad.”

“Why shouldn’t I? Maybe someone could actually beat some sense into you!”

“Have you never made mistakes, Frannie? I know Daddy thinks you’re perfect, but I know you aren’t waiting for marriage to have sex. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to know about the birth control pills that you’re popping like Tic Tacs.” The ice queen was back in business.

“Whatever, Quinn, but get that girl out of the house before they get home or I’m not guaranteeing anything.” 

I stormed out of Frannie’s room fuming. As much as the kiss with Santana felt perfect, I knew that it couldn’t be more than that. Ever. It was against everything I had learned for so many years. And one thing I’ve learned from growing up a Fabray is that just because something feels good, doesn’t mean it’s right. In fact, it usually means the exact opposite.

Santana was still sitting awkwardly in the den when I got back.

“San…” I started, but she cut me off.

“I should get going. See you around, Q,” she said and she took off for the front door without even glancing back at me.

School started up a few days later and we fell back into our own routines. Santana sat beside me in class like always, usually spending her time throwing little balls of paper at the girl that sat in front of her or passing me notes. I tried to avoid answering them, putting my effort into paying attention to the teacher, but when I ignored her, she would nudge my thigh with her hand and I could feel the jolt of electricity through my entire body in those moments.

Coach Sylvester took no mercy on us despite the freezing weather. Any days that it wasn’t snowing we were out on the field running and on the days that she wasn’t allowed to take us outside, we were stuck in the hot gym until way beyond dark. Nationals were creeping up fast and she was making it abundantly clear that anything less than first place was an utter failure and threatened to cut all of us for the following season.

Early in December, Coach was pushing us extra hard during an indoor practice and our captain, a bitchy senior girl, fell during a stunt. It was the first time I ever saw Coach show any mercy on anybody, but it might have been because her ankle was obviously snapped from the fall. After she was escorted away with the trainer, Coach turned back to the rest of us who were milling around on the side of the gym.

“Fabray, that means you’re now at the top of the pyramid. Try not to be as clumsy as Michaels was,” Sylvester said through her microphone. Everybody stared right at me. The other seniors glared menacingly at me like they expected me to tell Coach that they should get my position instead. I turned to meet Santana’s eyes, looking for comfort in my closest friend, but she shared a similar glance as the rest of my teammates.

Coach screamed again through the megaphone to tell us to get in position to run our routine and I followed my teammates, still in utter disbelief at my promotion. They ignored me for the rest of practice and I was the last one out of the locker room that night after practice so that I could avoid them as much as possible.

Dinner was a quiet affair in my house, my dad ate quickly and then disappeared into his home office and my mom just flitted around quietly making sure my dad was fed and watered. I pushed my green beans around my plate, my appetite non-existent. 

Neither of my parents noticed that I didn’t take a single bite of my food. As soon as my dad took off for his office, I excused myself before my mom could protest.

I closed myself into my bedroom, which was my only true sanctuary in this house. My walls had changed over the past few months, pictures of my new friends replacing the bare green paint that surrounded me.

Santana and Brittany smiled back at me from most of the pictures. I missed the simplicity of our original friendship. Now I could hardly glance at Santana without being reminded of the kiss. 

What would have had happened if Frannie hadn’t walked into the room? I try to tell myself that I would have ended the kiss myself because it’s what I should do. Kissing girls wasn’t acceptable. It was gross and wrong and a sin. But why did it feel a million times better than kissing Tim? I told myself repeatedly that Tim just hadn’t been the right guy. Kissing Santana just felt good because it wasn’t a sloppy drunken kiss, not because she was a girl.

School the next day was pretty miserable. The news of my promotion had spread like wildfire and people moved out of my way even more than usual in the hallways. Santana walked stiffly by my side and didn’t try to pass me a single note during our first period class and I found myself fixated on her fingers, waiting for her to pick up the pen that was lying lazily on top of her notebook.

Second period was much of the same. We had walked Britt to class like always and then slipped into our seats in the back of the room. Algebra was my worst subject, but it was one of Santana’s best so she usually found ways to amuse herself. Today she just sat with her arms crossed and stared at the whiteboard in the front of the room. Despite my need to pay attention for my grade, I again was fixated on Santana, desperately trying to find a way to break into our easy friendship again.

Third period was Biology and Santana was forced to share a table with me, obviously much to her chagrin. Halfway through the period I gave into my frustration and scribbled her a note.

I’m sorry.

It was simple, but I didn’t know what else to say. Coach Sylvester had promoted me without me really fighting for the position. None of it had actually been my fault, but I did feel sorry because it felt like I was losing my only good friend at McKinley.

Santana accepted the note when I slid it against her arm and she glanced at it, a frown playing on her lips.

Whatever, Q. You obviously haven’t heard of earning your stripes because the rest of us have put in years of training to be a Cheerio and you just waltz in like you think you own the place.

I didn’t pick this. I didn’t request special favors from Sylvester. What did you want me to do, tell her I don’t want it? She would have thrown me off of the Cheerios and you know it. 

Yeah, well I’m glad Cheerios is more important than friendships to you, Q.

I ventured a sidelong glance at Santana. Her eyes were red and her lips pursed tightly.

What is this really about, San? I know you’re not that upset about Cheerios.

She grimaced at my words and I knew that I struck the right chord.

It’s my birthday.

I gasped audibly. I had no idea. Santana’s emotions were typically as hard as steel, but it was suddenly obvious how much it bothered her that nobody seemed to realize it was her birthday.

I’m so sorry, San. I had no idea.

The bell rang and Santana tossed her book back into her bag and led the way out of the room. Brittany was waiting in her typical spot outside of her classroom when we arrived and we walked together to our lockers to drop off our bags before lunch.

Santana was on line to get her lunch, so I pulled Brittany to our normal table. She sat down and happily dug into her peanut butter and jelly sandwich with no crusts.

“Hey, B?” She looked up curiously. “Today is Santana’s birthday.”

Brittany stared at me in confusion for a minute before understanding flooded her face.

“Do you think this is why she’s been trying to teach me about calendars?” she asked innocently.

“Probably, B. Do you want to help me bake her a cake after Cheerios?” Brittany nodded enthusiastically as Santana appeared at the table, her lunch consisting of an apple and a bottle of water clutched in her hands.

The afternoon felt shorter than the morning had. Santana’s mood hadn’t changed much, but at least now I had plans to focus on instead of fixating on why she was ignoring me.

Cheerios practice was hell on Earth. My teammates were ignoring me completely. I was a little surprised that they hadn’t dropped me on my head yet, but I guess that they were scared of Coach’s wrath if she lost another head cheerleader this week.

When Brittany jumped out of Mrs. Lopez’s car at my house, I could see the hurt in Santana’s eyes but she didn’t say anything. I gave her a weak smile before I followed Brittany into my house.

I discovered quickly that Brittany didn’t understand recipes, so I measured out each ingredient before handing them to her so she could mix them into the bowl. An hour later, we had a perfectly frosted cake that was completely covered in rainbow sprinkles (Brittany’s addition, not mine). Brittany clapped excitedly at the finished product and I smiled at the innocent girl as I carefully placed the cake into the carrier. Calling a quick goodbye to my mom, we left to walk the few blocks to Santana’s house.

Mrs. Lopez was in the kitchen, delectable scents of her Latin cooking filling the expansive room from when she was standing by the stove. She greeted us warmly and sent us up to Santana’s bedroom.

Santana was lying facedown in her pillows when we entered. She didn’t lift her head until Brittany bounced onto the bed next to her.

“Happy birthday, Sanny!” Brittany squealed, pressing a kiss to Santana’s temple. “Q and I baked you a cake!” she added excitedly and pointing to the container in my hands.

“Happy birthday, San,” I said quietly, meeting her bloodshot eyes. She had obviously been crying, but I knew better than to comment on that.

“Thanks guys,” she said softly, letting Brittany hug her shoulders. “Wanna stay for dinner, I think Mom is making tamales.”

Brittany’s face visibly dropped.

“I can’t, San. I have dance class on Thursday nights, remember?” She looked like she was about to cry.

“It’s alright, B,” she soothed, stroking the back of Brittany’s hand that was resting on her knee.

“How about you, Q?” she asked, turning her attention towards me.

“You know I can’t resist your mom’s tamales,” I said with a grin. She gave me the first genuine smile I had seen on her face all day.

Brittany’s mom picked her up for dance shortly after and Mrs. Lopez called us down for dinner. I tried to take my normal seat, but Santana nudged me into Britt’s normal seat right beside her.

It was just the three of us for dinner. Mr. Lopez was apparently stuck in a late surgery again. Disappointment flashed across Santana’s face before it returned to its stony expression. Mrs. Lopez stuck candles into the cake I had brought when we had polished off the tamales and I learned how to sing “Happy Birthday” in Spanish. It was nice to see a lasting smile on Santana’s face as she blew out the candles.

When Santana asked me if I wanted to stay and watch a movie with her, I hesitated for a few reasons. The blaring one was alone time in a secluded room with Santana, and the other was the homework I hadn’t started. Her eyes silently pleaded with me and I gave her a small nod, figuring I could do my History homework in English the next morning.

I let her pick the movie since it was her birthday. She popped on some action movie I had never seen nor cared to see. I sat awkwardly on the edge of her bed until she made a comment and I scooted back to lean against the headboard, leaving a reasonable distance between us.

“I don’t bite, Q,” she joked, reaching over and slipping her fingers into the spaces between mine. Like always, they fit perfectly. I didn’t pull away despite the fact that my mind was now on overdrive from her touch. I glanced at the clock. We were only twenty minutes into this movie. That meant I had at least an hour left before I could make my escape.

Another fifteen minutes slid by slowly and my breath hitched as Santana’s dark head found comfort on my shoulder, her shoulder leaning against my side. This was completely new ground. Brittany was the middle, the barrier. 

Santana’s skin was silky smooth where it rubbed against my arm and my fingers unconsciously started to draw circles against the back of her hand, reveling in the softness. I heard her sigh softly and her eyes slipped closed.

Her head turned and I jumped in surprise. Lips were brushing against my neck and I was paralyzed with shock. She sighed again, her breath hot against my already burning skin.

“San, what are you doing,” I said, my voice no louder than a whisper into the empty room. Gunshots went off loudly from the TV screen, yet I knew she could hear me as clear as day.

“Making my birthday wish come true,” she said boldly, sitting up so our faces were inches apart, her leaning slightly over my stiff body. I saw it coming, but I was stuck to the spot and my eyes closed on instinct when her lips touched mine. Her lips were so soft and I could taste her lip-gloss and I was suddenly self-conscious of my own chapped lips.

My mind was racing, but I couldn’t convince my body to pull away like my head was trying to convince it to. Instead, I felt Santana’s tongue run along my lower lip slowly and I sighed, giving her the access she was working for.

Her tongue stroked mine tentatively like she was afraid I was going to bolt at any second. It was sensitive and velvety and tasted like chocolate frosting. I couldn’t help but compare to the overactive, beer-tasting mouth of Tim and admitted that this was a million times better than that.

After a long moment, my mind finally gave up and I let myself melt into her, returning her kiss. She let out the tiniest moan when I stroked her tongue with mine and her hand came up to cup my face. Her thumb outlined my jaw as our mouths worked together, slowly and calculated in their movements.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but eventually she pulled back slightly, resting her forehead against mine.

“Wow,” said Santana quietly, her breath tickling my nose.

My heart started racing with fear. This was exactly what I was supposed to be avoiding. I can’t just kiss Santana because it feels good. 

“San, we can’t do this,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. She pulled back a little more so that she could look in my eyes.

“We DID do this, Q. And you can’t look me in the eye and tell me you don’t enjoy it because I know you do.”

I pulled myself out from her grip and slid off of the bed, wrapping myself back up in my Cheerio jacket before heading for the door. I hesitated with my hand on the door handle.

“Happy birthday, Santana,” I said, avoiding her eyes before turning the knob and leaving her bedroom.

Despite the awkwardness that surrounded Santana and I for the next couple of weeks, I didn’t turn down the invitation to spend New Year’s Eve with them. It was the first time I was ever invited to a party for the occasion. We met at Brittany’s and by the time I got there, Santana was already wearing a skintight red dress. Her dark hair fell in waves over her bare, tanned shoulders. Brittany hugged me tightly when I walked into the room, which forced me to pull my attention off of Santana. She was in a bright blue dress that emphasized her eyes perfectly. 

I was carrying my duffel bag and a hanger with my own dress on it. Brittany insisted that I get dressed as soon as her bedroom door closed behind me. Santana met my eyes awkwardly and looked away as I shimmied out of my skirt and sweater and replaced it with a black cocktail dress. It wasn’t nearly as tight as either of my friends’ dresses, but it hugged me nicely and I knew it was at least classy.

Brittany pushed me down in a chair in front of her vanity and went to work on my makeup. The next chance I got to look in the mirror, I had dark, smoky eyes that set off the greenish hue in my irises. Looking in the mirror still felt weird to me and right now, my eyes didn’t even remind me of Lucy.

The blonde skipped out of the room and down to the bathroom to finish her hair and left Santana and I standing awkwardly in her bedroom.

“Santana, I’m..” Again Santana cut me off before I could speak.

“It’s nothing, Q. We’re cool, okay?” she said. Her voice wasn’t the gentle, soothing tone that it had been on my couch after that first confusing kiss. I missed the soft side of her, but I didn’t push. I gave her a little nod and sat primly in my seat, waiting for Brittany to come back and end the awkwardness.

I was not looking forward to the party and I turned down the shots that Brittany offered before we left. She looked at me in confusion, but didn’t push me. Santana volunteered to take mine and she was drunker than I had ever seen her by the time we headed out the door.

It was the first time I had been at one of these functions completely sober, but I didn’t feel like having a horrible night this time. Tim found me immediately, but I shrugged him off quickly and headed through the house alone. Santana and Brittany were grinding against one another and the boys were whooping at them. They were the only two dancing in the entire room and Santana’s hands were wandering up and down Brittany’s sides, her fingers gripping her possessively. That feeling washed over me again as I watched them. I could understand why the guys were so riled up: their bodies were flush against one another and they were moving together as one. Brittany was a skilled dancer and Santana could hold her own, but she let Brittany guide her in a sensual way. Their hips were swinging together in perfect rhythm and they kept whispering into one another’s ears and laughing at things only they knew about.

I felt left out, but that was always a downside to being the third part of the Unholy Trinity. Brittany and Santana had been an inseparable duo since fifth grade and I was the new girl trying desperately to find my place between them. Nobody else had ever even come close.

Eventually the sight became unbearable and I gave up on my sober plan and headed straight for the liquor. Puck handed me a cup that he called his signature drink, but it tasted like straight tequila to me. I winced as I took my first couple of sips, the strong liquor burning on the way down. The whooping had only gotten louder from the other room so I wandered back in to see Santana lying on the coffee table with Brittany hovering over her. There was a trail of salt sitting between her cleavage, a shot glass filled with tequila in Brittany’s hand, and a lime being held by Santana’s teeth. 

The boys were chanting their encouragement and Brittany grinned at them before lowering her mouth and licked the salt from between Santana’s boobs before taking the shot like an expert. Time seemed to move in slow motion as she dove in for Santana’s mouth and took the lime. The rind was spit out nearly immediately, but their lips stayed locked on one another, Santana’s tongue darting into the blonde’s mouth to taste the mix of flavors. This made the boys go wild.

I wanted to hate the sight knowing how wrong it really was. Not only were they two girls, but they were doing this for the viewing pleasure of half of the male population from McKinley. As the kiss ended, Santana’s eyes fluttered open and met mine. She gave me a scalding glance and I felt my cheeks go red.

Brittany’s hand found mine and she hugged me as we helped Santana up from the table.

“You should do one, Q!” Brittany squealed in her drunken happiness.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, B.”

“Well I haven’t gotten to take my shot yet, so I need a victim,” said Santana, her gaze never leaving me. “Have you ever done a body shot, Q?” she asked, knowing fully that I had never done it.

All I could hear was Frannie’s scolding in my head. This wasn’t okay. I shouldn’t want a girl's lips on my chest and my mouth, even if it is just a stupid party game. I can’t do something like this without consequences for my action.

“You only get this in your dreams, Lopez,” I said icily and stalked out of the room.

I spent most of the night sitting at the kitchen table with a group of football guys who were playing strip poker. I was still sober enough to kick all of their asses and most of them were down to their boxers by the time someone shouted at we only have five minutes until midnight.

I had never spent a New Year’s Eve at a party and it only dawned on me in that moment that people were going to actually kiss as the clock struck twelve. Panic settled in my chest and I tossed my hand on the table and hurried out of the room. Outside seemed like the only place to escape. I walked out the front door and settled onto the porch swing, basking in the feeling of the cold air against my heated skin.

Inside I heard people start to countdown from sixty, marking the last minute of the old year. I wished I was lying in my bed, curled up with a great book like I had for every New Year’s Eve that I could remember. There wasn’t the pressure of popularity or pleasing friends or having the perfect person to kiss when the ball dropped. I had fantasy worlds to lose myself in and they were always better than reality. In fact, they still were.

My house was too far away to walk, so I knew I was stuck here until Santana and Brittany decided to leave. I didn’t want to sleep in a bed so close to them tonight, but I had no idea how to explain to them that I wasn’t okay with it after all of these months as doing just that.

I heard the yells come from inside the house as the New Year began. A single tear fell down my cheek, knowing that although it felt like my life was completely different, I was still all alone. Except this time, I didn’t even have a fantasy world to fall into.

The front door creaked open and I saw a girl’s silhouette standing there awkwardly. As soon as she started to walk towards me, I knew it was Santana and I inwardly groaned.

She sat down on the swing beside me, not bothering to ask if it was okay to join me. I guess she knew that I would say absolutely not.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you like that in front of all of those guys,” she said. I knew this is as close as she got to saying she was sorry.

“Look, San, I’m not going to judge you for what you like to do or what Brittany likes to do or what you like to do together. I love being your friend, but that’s all this is ever going to be to me.”

“So you’re telling me that you felt absolutely nothing the other night.”

I hesitated, eternally grateful that it was too dark for her to see the tears forming in my eyes as I answered.

“I didn’t feel anything,” I replied in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“That’s bullshit, Q, but I guess you need to tell yourself that so you can sleep at night without the fear of being struck by lightning.” She was being snarky and I knew she was annoyed.

“You said it yourself, San. You don’t want things to mean anything with Brittany. This is Lima, Ohio and we’re girls. We don’t fall in love with one another, we’re not meant to. It’s not right.”

“But you know deep down that is all utter crap that our Bible hugging parents have forced down our throats, because it cannot be wrong to feel the way I felt when I kissed you.” She paused and I swatted away the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. “I was raised in a super Catholic household too, Q. There’s no way I’m going to fly a rainbow flag just because I think it’s fun to kiss girls. But I’m also not going to sit here and deny that we have sparks when there’s nobody around to judge us but ourselves.”

“We don’t have sparks, Santana. We have the thrill of going against our parents for some ridiculous teenage experimentation. I’m sure Brittany will be more than happy to take care of your needs in the kissing girls area.”

I hated that I wanted to believe everything she was saying, but I couldn’t stop seeing Frannie and my parents in the back of my mind.

“Well, happy New Year, Quinn,” she said sarcastically and moved to get up. I was completely caught off guard when she leaned down and placed a light kiss to my cheek.

The spot burned, even after she disappeared back into the house. I raised my fingers to it, feeling nothing but my own skin. She burned me with those damn sparks.

That night I took my spot on Brittany’s right side as usual and did my best to avoid letting her snuggle into me. It was futile because Brittany always got her way. I laid awake for a long time, listening to the even breathing of my friends. I nearly leaped out of the bed when I felt Santana’s fingers slip between mine. My head was screaming at me to pull away, but I was scared to wake Brittany. Instead, I finally drifted off to sleep with her hand in mine, feeling the warmth of the connection my heart so desperately craved.

I avoided Santana when we returned from break, showing up early and rushing to classes so that we didn’t have to walk together. Santana acted like nothing was different and spent her class periods doodling on the edges of my notebook or texting under the desk.

By Friday, I was sick of avoiding her all of the time. Instead of hiding out in the library, I headed towards the cafeteria for lunch.

Brittany and Santana were sitting with a couple of our guy friends at our table when I walked into the cafeteria. I thought about slipping into a corner and sitting by myself with my book like I used to do when I was Lucy. But my streak of bad luck continued when Brittany saw me and waved me over excitedly.

I sat down next to Puck and his friend Finn, both of them in their letterman jackets. I almost giggled at the sight. Our entire table was made up of letterman jackets from football boys and red Cheerio uniforms. This is never the lunch table I thought I would be sitting at in high school.

I could feel Santana’s eyes on me for most of lunch, but I ignored them, choosing to talk to Brittany and the guys instead. She scowled at not being able to get my attention and my stomach flipped when the bell rang. There wouldn’t be any buffers in our afternoon classes. Just Santana and I side-by-side.

Class was incredibly boring that day and I doodled on the edges of my notebook for the first two classes. By the third class, I didn’t even bother trying to take notes, instead focusing all of my attention into my drawing.

I felt the familiar nudge of Santana’s elbow to my ribs and I glanced at her sidelong. Her hand was on the table and I could see a note tucked into. I reached out to get it and she kept her hand cupped, forcing our fingers to brush against one another as I took it. Chills ran down my spine and I could feel the pink tinge on my cheeks.

Party at Kenzie’s tonight. You in?

I could feel her eyes on me. I desperately wanted to say no, spending the Friday night in the sanctity of my bedroom. But Kenzie was a junior Cheerio and to be honest, I needed all of the time I could possibly get to work on getting my teammates to stop hating me.

Not wanting to touch Santana more than necessary I looked over and caught her eye before nodding my head in agreement. She gave me a smile and turned back to throwing little balls of paper at the guy sitting in front of her.

I got ready at my own house that night. Brittany texted me that they were coming to pick me up and they pulled up in front of the house and honked once. Brittany’s brother, Josh, was behind the wheel and he gave me a bright smile as I climbed into the backseat next to Santana. I could feel the Latina’s eyes on me, but Brittany didn’t seem to notice as she babbled on about random topics and smiling at us in the rearview mirror.

We thanked Josh for the ride and tumbled out of the car in front of Kenzie’s house. It was the basic cookie-cutter style that made up most of Lima and was nowhere near as big as Santana’s or mine. There were a decent amount of cars parked along the street in front of it and we stomped up the path to the front door. We didn’t bother knocking since nobody would’ve heard us over the music anyway and I let Brittany clasp my hand and lead me through the house.

She and Santana had obviously been to Kenzie’s before and navigated the floor plan easily, leading me into the kitchen at the back of the house where a row of liquor and soda bottles sat on the granite countertop. I let Santana pour me a drink and I murmured my thanks without looking at her. 

It didn’t take Brittany long to drag us towards the source of the music so that she could dance. I tried to escape the grip, leaving her to dance with Santana like at most parties. She wouldn’t let me, however. I was sandwiched between the two of them and I could feel my face turning bright red at the closeness of their bodies to mine. I swallowed a huge gulp of my drink, appreciating the burn of the liquor and hoping that it would help hide the blush that seemed to be consuming my entire body.

Finally Brittany lost her focus and peeled off in favor of dancing with a football guy. Santana’s hand was resting on my forearm protectively, holding me on the dance floor with her. I stayed for a couple more minutes before citing my need for the bathroom to excuse myself.

In the bathroom I leaned over the sink, trying to calm down my overheated body. I could feel the vodka hitting my system and my thoughts were stuck on the feel of Santana’s soft skin against mine, her playful half-smile as she danced close to me. I shook my head. These thoughts needed to go away. I washed my hands and checked my makeup before heading back into the throng.

A group was starting a drinking game. I noticed that most of them were made up of my teammates, including San and Britt and a fair number of football and baseball guys. Kenzie stood there holding the deck of cards and looking at me.

“You playing, Fabray?” she asked me with a cocky smirk. I gulped, trying to swallow the lump caught in my throat. I saw Santana over her shoulder, her eyes challenging me. I couldn’t seem like a tight ass in front of my teammates when I was trying to slowly win them over.

“Of course,” I said shakily and settled onto the floor between Tim and Finn.

I didn’t quite catch onto the rules of the game, which resulted in me being directed to drink pretty much constantly. After the first round of it, I quit along with half a dozen others. Most of the party was drunk at this point and I knew I was easily amongst them. Puck and a couple of the other football guys started convincing Brittany that it was time for body shots. She agreed readily and they cheered as she glanced around the room for a partner. Minutes later, Santana was lying on the table grinning up at Brittany. Salt was settled in a spot on her hipbone this time, her shirt pulled up to expose her toned abdomen. When Brittany licked it off, she giggled and squirmed. Brittany tossed the shot back and winced slightly as she leaned into Santana’s mouth to retrieve her lime. The boys were whooping loudly as Brittany pulled the lime rind away from their mouths and let the kiss linger for another long moment before pulling away and helping Santana up.

“I’m next,” Santana said quickly, filling up the shot glass. Brittany was about to pull her shirt off and lie down. “Quinn, help me out,” she said with a smoldering glance. I felt the eyes turn to me and a couple of boys whistled. My head felt hazy from the alcohol and before I could respond, Brittany was helping me onto the table with a big smile.

I gasped at the feeling of Brittany’s tongue on my neck, but it disappeared quickly and I felt it replaced with salt. The tall blonde took another slice of lime and popped it into my mouth and I held it there with my teeth. My heart was thumping and I could feel millions of eyes focusing on me, but my inhibition had faded enough that I didn’t try to leave the table. Santana stood on my right, holding the glass in her hand and looked down to see if I was ready. I met her eyes, willing her to get it over with and she complied.

I felt her tongue slide rather seductively down the side of my neck as she removed the salt. Her head tipped back with a toss of her dark hair as the shot disappeared down her throat. Then her mouth was moving ever closer to mine, her breath against my lips. She seized the lime and sucked before spitting it to the side and fully capturing my mouth. I gasped at the forcefulness and let her tongue slide along mine. I could taste the combination of the shot as she kissed me. The boys’ cheers were loud in my ears and Santana reluctantly pulled away, her lips red and her eyes darker than usual. I gulped and let her help me up off of the table.

Brittany immediately hopped onto the table to let a guy take a shot off of her and I wandered out of the room, needing some fresh air. I still felt hazy from all of the alcohol and of the events from the last fifteen minutes. Twice in two days Santana had gotten me in situations where her lips were on mine. Both times, I enjoyed it way too much. I needed to distance myself from her and the situation, but she was my best friend and I didn’t want to be alone again. Plus what if Frannie finds out? She’ll tell my parents and my life will be over. Nothing good can come out of this.

Santana comes up behind me as I lean on the railing of the back porch, shivering in the winter air. Her arm brushes up against mine and I pull away as if burned. In fact, it kind of felt like I had. Her skin was hot in contrast to the cold night.

“Why the hell are you doing this to me?” I ask her. I’m sick of fighting in my own head constantly.

“Can’t help myself,” said Santana with a shrug, her arms crossed to keep herself warm.

“You have Brittany who is willing to be your experimentation guinea pig. I don’t know why you keep dragging me into this,” I say, feeling my anger growing.

She didn’t answer but shrugged again, hugging herself tighter. I wanted to yell at her, to tell her to stay the hell away from me, but I couldn’t convince myself to do it. Instead, I just stormed back inside before I could let my head get hazy around her again. This was all going to be about avoiding getting myself in situations. It was the only way to make sure it didn’t happen anymore. I’ve only kissed one guy in my entire life. There is no way that I can start feeling things for a girl.

The party had only gotten wilder since I had walked out. Brittany was dancing surrounded by two guys in her bra and her tongue was down the throat of one of them. Kenzie was making out with Puck in a corner, her hand pressed against his ridiculous Mohawk. The answer was lying right in front of me. Avoid kissing Santana by kissing boys instead.

I scanned the room. The one good thing about my promotion to head Cheerio meant that I had my pick of the crop. There was a tall blonde guy in a polo shirt sitting on the couch that I recognized as one of the older football guys. A junior I think, who drove a black pickup truck. I sauntered over to him, taking in his lopsided grin and the beer can clasped in his large hand.

He looked up when I approached and I felt his eyes rake down my body. It was still uncomfortable for me when people did that. Before, when I was still Lucy, nobody looked at me like I was a piece of meat. I wanted to walk away at his pigheaded response, but then I remembered why I was doing this.

“Dance with me,” I demanded. Hanging out with Santana was wearing off on me. He looked a little stunned at my tone, but didn’t hesitate to stand up, high five his pigheaded friend and follow me into the middle of the room near Brittany.

His large hands found a home on my hips and I let my arm wrap around his neck as we started to move with the music. He was a little closer than I would’ve liked, but he still left a little distance between us.

“You’re Quinn Fabray, right?” he asked, almost conversationally like he already knew the answer. I nodded, analyzing his light green eyes and perfectly straight nose. At least he was a catch in the looks department. “I’m Paul Linden,” he said with a grin.

Conversation fell pretty flat after the initial greetings and I let my mind wander as he moved against me. I caught sight of Santana leaning against the wall watching me intently. This was my moment to prove my point. Paul was trying to make small talk, but I just put a hand on his chest and tipped my head up. He got the hint and stooped slightly, capturing my lips with his. They were chapped, but he moved softly. I willed myself to not compare this kiss to Santana, but it seemed like she was the only thing on my mind. But despite that, I kissed him deeper, determined to will myself to enjoy it like I knew I was supposed to.


	3. Chapter 3

Paul was a nice enough guy. He gave me the attention that the rest of the world seemed to believe I deserved. He walked me to class and kissed my cheek before heading to his own classroom. Friday nights became date nights, him paying for dinner and sometimes a movie before driving me home. Paul always walked me to the door, his goodnight kiss a little sloppy but always sweet.

The hallways buzzed about us for the first two weeks. Paul was a football player, but not a star. He wasn’t a huge partier and his reputation was on the verge of squeaky clean. People often told me that I could do even better like it was any of their business who I chose to date. I liked the low-pressure situation of being with Paul.

To say that Santana disapproved of Paul was a gross understatement. We hardly spoke for days after the kiss at the party and when we did she just made snide, unwarranted remarks about Paul. It was Brittany who spilled the beans to Santana that Paul had asked me on an actual date and that I had accepted. We were sitting at our table in the cafeteria, just the three of us. She told me that I was being ridiculous for considering dating him for real and I wanted to disagree with her, but I couldn’t do it. Paul was nice enough, but there were obviously no sparks. I scoffed at her, nut trusting myself to speak knowing she’s see right through my lie.

Paul asked me to be his official girlfriend after our fourth Friday night date. It was really just a formality at this point, but he grinned widely when I accepted. His goodnight kiss lasted a little longer that night.

Upon finding out that Paul was my boyfriend, my parents insisted that he join us for dinner on Friday. I groaned inwardly but knew there was no point in fighting them on this. If I refused, I would be forbidden from seeing him. So instead of a date on Friday night, Paul entered the house when he rang the bell. He was wearing slightly wrinkled khaki pants and a white Oxford shirt. Around his neck was a green and navy striped tie that he tugged on nervously as I showed him into the sitting room.

My parents were both sitting in the room when we appeared in the doorway. My mom was perched on the couch, a glass of red wine resting on the coaster on the table next to her, her dress recently pressed and fitting her perfectly as usual and the string of expensive pearls gleaming around her neck. 

In his normal armchair sat my father. His tie from his day at the office had been loosened and the top button of his shirt was undone. The ice in his tumbler clinked noisily as he swirled it in his hand, his eyes closed as he took in the smooth jazz playing from the stereo.

“Mom, Daddy, this is Paul,” I said quietly. Paul fidgeted uncomfortably beside me. Both of my parents stood and walked over to us.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fabray,” he said shyly, taking her hand and shaking it. My dad’s eyes were frozen on Paul’s every move. Paul turned to him, reddening under my father’s glance.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” His hand grasped my father’s and I smiled at my dad’s obvious approval. I knew from experience that my dad judged men by their handshake so Paul must have a good one.

Dinner went smoothly. Paul, while not very outgoing, answered my parents’ constant questions with ease. He even threw in small compliments about the house and my mom’s cooking much to her pleasure. Overall, it was probably better than I could’ve hoped for. And it all just solidified my need for making things with Paul work.

Paul said goodbye to my parents after dinner and they gave us a little privacy as I walked him to the front door. We stood awkwardly in the foyer for a few moments before I spoke.

“Thanks for doing this. They’re pretty old-fashioned sometimes,” I mumbled. It was one of the few moments that I noticed the age difference. He had probably met a bunch of ex-girlfriends’ parents.

“I don’t mind, Quinn,” he said softly, brushing a tendril of hair off of my face and behind my ear. “Will you go to junior prom with me?”

My jaw dropped. I completely forgot that dating a junior would mean that I would get a coveted invitation to the prom. My heart leaped in my chest and I squeaked out an affirmation. He smiled widely, a dimple appearing in his right cheek. His kiss goodbye held more weight than it ever had before and it scared me. Was I really ready for a relationship like this? I watched his pickup truck pull down the driveway before running to my room.

Hey B. Can I come over?

Her yes came almost immediately and I convinced my mom to drive me to Brittany’s since she lived on the other side of town. I didn’t bother changing from my dress that I had worn for dinner.

Brittany’s parents and brother weren’t home, so I let myself in and bounded up the stairs to her bedroom. The door was slightly ajar so I pushed it and was a little surprised to see Santana sitting on the floor painting her toenails.

“Hey, Quinn!” said Brittany excitedly, waving me over to the bed where she was lying on her stomach watching SpongeBob cartoons.

“Hey,” I said timidly. It made sense that Santana was there. They were basically inseparable and it was a Friday night. Yet I was taken aback at the sight, having hoped to talk to Brittany alone.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared absentmindedly at the cartoon. Santana had hardly acknowledged my existence, not bothering to look up for her polishing. I watched her hands move carefully as she applied the bright red to each nail, her head bent in concentration.

“Are we having a night in?” I asked hopefully, not really wanting to be amongst people at a party tonight. Namely, I didn’t want to be drunk around Santana and I had managed to avoid that for the last month.

Brittany nodded enthusiastically, passing me a gigantic bowl of popcorn. I took a small handful and moved it back to her. It was a little distraction from the awkwardness in the room.

“Paul asked me to go to prom with him,” I said softly, hoping only Britt would hear me.

“Well, no shit. You’re dating him and he’s a junior.” Santana’s voice was edgy and sarcastic. I didn’t respond.

“That’s so much fun, Quinn! Can I go dress shopping with you? What color are you going to wear?” I knew Brittany would be the supportive friend that I needed right now. “We still have two months. I need to find a junior so we can go together!” 

Her excitement was infectious, but Santana looked like she was on the verge of throwing up at the discussion. The scowl on her face made my heart ache a little, but I forced myself to push it away. We weren’t anything and she didn’t have any right to be upset that I was going to prom with Paul.

As the night wore on, Santana and I came to a silent agreement to avoid mentioning Paul if possible. I called my mom and told her I was going to sleepover after much convincing from Brittany. I rolled into a tight ball on my side of the bed, staying as close to the edge as possible. I could feel Brittany’s arm brushing my back as I faced away from them, but at least I was safe from Santana’s hand over here.

My mom was as excited as Brittany was about prom. Brittany’s excitement only grew when a friend of Paul’s asked her to go to prom and I was glad that she would be going. I didn’t know his friends that well still so it would be a comfort having her around. We shopped for our gowns together. She picked up a bright cobalt blue for herself almost immediately and it fit her like a glove, hugging every inch of her dancer body. It took three shops and countless hours before we found a dress for me. We agreed on a dark green gown that was simple and elegant. I twirled in it in front of the mirrors in the store and felt like a princess.

The week before prom, I heard from Puck that Santana was going to prom with Tim. I was completely shocked because she typically acted like she hated his guts. But what wrenched my stomach was Puck mentioning that Tim told the guys in the locker room that he was planning to take her virginity at the party after prom.

I blew Paul off when he was standing outside of my class to chase Santana. She had taken off as soon as the bell rang, no longer feeling the need to wait for me to walk with her. I grabbed her arm and pulled her into the closest bathroom. There was a group of sophomore girls in it, but I glared at them and they fled. I threw the lock before anybody else could enter the room.

“What the fuck, Q?” asked Santana, obviously annoyed. Her hands were folded over her chest and she was glaring directly at me.

“You’re going to prom with Tim.” It was a statement, not a question.

“And?” Santana asked impatiently. It was lunch, so she couldn’t even escape me under the pretense of needing to get to class.

“It’s Tim! You have no interest in Tim. I’m pretty sure you actually hate his guts.”

“You don’t get a say in who I date, Q.” She had me there. It’s not like she got a say in me dating Paul.

“He’s telling all of the guys that he’s planning on taking your virginity at the after party,” I said, my voice hardly louder than a whisper. Santana’s eyes dropped from mine and she scuffed the toe of her tennis shoe against the tiled floor.

“Again, Q, what does it matter to you?” It came out so quietly, but seemed to ring out in the entire room. I couldn’t believe that she was actually considering sleeping with Tim.

“You’re my best friend, Santana! Obviously I’m going to care if people are spreading rumors that you’re going to have sex with someone on prom night when I know you don’t even like the person!”

“Who said I didn’t like Tim? Where have you been for the last month? Because if you had been making time for your so-called best friend, you’d have known that Tim and I have been hooking up for a couple of weeks.” Her words felt like she was spitting fire in my face.

“You still haven’t said that you actually like him,” I retorted. She had completely avoided using those words.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you of all people, Quinn.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Santana didn’t answer and I should have seen it coming. Santana doesn’t handle emotions well. I guess I expected her to slap me or something because that would’ve been my response. But instead I felt my back slammed against the tiled wall next to the row of sinks and her lips pushed hard against mine. 

She was slightly smaller than me but stronger and she held me there, pinned. I struggled against her hands trying to pull myself away from the assault on my mouth but it was futile. My mind was in overdrive and I was trying so hard to not kiss her back even when I couldn’t physically pull away.

My resolve faded as soon as her tongue darted along my bottom lip. I pushed back into her, fighting for the dominance she was unwilling to relinquish. Her body moved even closer until there was no space between us and I groaned softly at the newfound friction. She moved against me, rocking her hips lightly enough to tease.

When our lungs started to burn from lack of oxygen, she pulled back slightly, panting as she looked into my eyes.

“You don’t get a say in who I date, Fabray,” she said pushing back off of me. It was her way of calling a truce. We can do what we want and we won’t stop the other. I had no idea how to justify what had just happened, but before I could ask Santana, she snapped open the lock and strode out of the bathroom.

Well, damn.

It took me five minutes to compose myself enough to join her and Brittany for lunch. She looked smugly at me when I sat down and tossed me a tube of lip-gloss. My fingers reached up subconsciously to run against my lips. They were swollen and chapped. I gave her a look of gratitude and smeared it on my lips. I nearly groaned when I tasted it and recognized it as the vanilla flavor that Santana always tasted like. The smug smile remained as she watched me closely, knowing how badly this was affecting me. 

The rest of the week flew by. Since our incident in the bathroom, Santana and I were closer to being our normal selves. She started passing me notes in class once in a while again and she would talk to me during water breaks at Cheerio practice. It wasn’t the same as before, but it felt good that we weren’t at one another’s throats. I desperately wanted to ask her if she was going to lose her virginity to Tim the following night, but I was scared to hear the answer.

I knew Santana was a little bit of a rebel. She had a mouth like a trucker (which she blamed on her abuela that grew up in Lima Heights Adjacent), it was a well-known fact that she could hold her booze and was the life of the party. On occasion, I had even seen her smoking a joint with some of the puck-heads at a party. In all honesty, I didn’t know her relationship history very well. Puck told me she had always been a major flirt and was definitely not a prude, but that her V-card was still solidly in tact.

I walked down the staircase on the night of prom, my mom waiting excitedly at the bottom, snapping pictures as I emerged. The gown was long and I had to hold it up so I wouldn’t trip and the silver heels were already giving me blisters.

This was never how I imagined my first prom. I had always figured that I would only go because my mom and sister would push me into it and I would end up sitting in a corner drinking punch by myself until it was acceptable to return home and read alone in my room.

Instead, at six o’clock sharp a boy in a classic black tuxedo rang my doorbell. My mom fawned over Paul and how well his classic good looks meshed with mine. He was a sport as she insisted we pose for pictures, keeping his hand respectfully on my waist the entire time. 

Finally, he told my mom that we had to go or we’d miss our dinner reservation and she shooed us out the door, telling us to have a great time. I couldn’t contain the smile that the night was already bringing.

Brittany and I squealed when we saw one another in the restaurant. Her dress looked even more stunning paired with high stiletto heels, an updo, and perfect makeup. She pulled me away from her after we hugged so she could take in my outfit before telling me that I looked hot. I blushed and thanked her before letting my eyes wander down the long table.

Santana was sitting halfway down the table with Tim’s thick arm slung around her shoulders. Her dress was strapless and deep red. The lipstick she was wearing matched the dress perfectly, making them look even fuller. I got a bad urge to punch Tim with the way his hand was groping her every chance he got. She didn’t push him off, but from her tight smile I knew she wasn’t really enjoying herself. I gave her a smile and let Paul lead me to our seats at the end.

The gym was completely decorated and nearly unrecognizable when we arrived. I didn’t even notice what the theme was, but the place was decked out in streamers and balloons and sparkles and twinkling lights. Paul’s hand was in mine and I smiled up at him as he led me in and immediately onto the dance floor.

It was a top 40 song and everybody was singing along loudly as they moved. Couples were everywhere, but I noticed the group of girls that had obviously come together laughing as they made a circle and danced together. As soon as Brittany made it to the dance floor her presence was known, a circle quickly forming around her as she moved. Her date was letting her lead and laughed as he tried to move with her. She was graceful and looked like music flowed through her veins. Thankfully her date, Bryan, had a little rhythm and was easygoing as she spun him around as they danced.

It didn’t take long until she took Santana’s hand and dragged her in to dance. Everybody was used to them doing this by this time in the year, but Santana still marched up to her in her insanely high heels with confidence and laughed as Brittany began to move her against her. The boys were loving it and her friends were laughing as they danced together, obviously enjoying one another’s company.

Tim didn’t seem completely amused and as soon as the song he ended, he pulled Santana back towards him to dance. I could see from across the room that he definitely had two left feet and Santana didn’t seem to be enjoying herself.

I was so busy fixating on Santana that I was completely surprised when Brittany tugged my arm and pulled me in to dance with her. The song was fast paced and her eyes widened when I kept up with her as she moved. I had picked up dance and gymnastics when I was trying to lose the weight in middle school. I wasn’t as fluent as Brittany, but I could move and this was the first time we had ever danced together sober.

Paul stood happily on the edge of the circle, his eyes meeting mine every once in a while as Brittany and I spun and moved to the music.

“You’re sexy when you dance,” said Brittany into my ear when she pulled me particularly close. The blush tore its way up my neck and face, making them burn uncomfortably. I was glad when the song ended a moment later, transitioning into a slow song.

I felt a larger hand on the small of back and recognized it as my boyfriend’s. I smiled at his familiar touch.

“May I have this dance?” he asked sweetly and I nodded, letting his hands rest on my hips and pulling me towards him. My hands snaked around his neck and I absentmindedly stroked the back of it, making his skin break out in small goose bumps.

I willed myself to look up at Paul or rest my head against his chest with my eyes closed. The last thing I wanted to catch a glimpse of was Tim groping Santana again. She deserved so much better than him. I just wanted her to realize that.

My feet were aching by the time the last song finished. Thankfully, I had packed a bag of stuff to change into for the after party and I felt so much better when I emerged from the bathroom at the house in a simple baby doll dress and flats. Paul had shed his tie and jacket, but was still wearing tuxedo pants and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and rolled up at the sleeves. He kissed me and took my bag and dress before disappearing through the throng to put it in his truck.

The house belonged to one of Paul’s teammates and I had been here before with Santana and Brittany. I didn’t remember it well, but I was able to navigate back to the kitchen. Tim was passing out shots and I saw Santana knock hers back before having him refill it immediately to take with the group. I looked at, silently pleading her to not lose control tonight but she just rolled her eyes at me and lifted her glass for the toast. I did the same, wincing as the warm liquid burned a hole in my esophagus on the way down.

Paul returned and his arms wrapped around my waist from behind. I sunk into his embrace, trying to enjoy it and realizing it felt clumsy because he was larger than me. We both accepted drinks from Tim and I gulped at mine, hoping to wash away my conscience so that I could enjoy the night with Paul and not worry about Santana the entire time.

A few drinks into the night, I could finally feel my buzz hitting me strong. I was on a couch, squished between Paul and some girl I didn’t know. He started kissing my neck and it felt unusual, but not entirely unpleasant. I let my gaze wander around the room as his tongue swiped a little sloppily along the shell of my ear and back down my neck. Brittany was straddling her date’s lap, making out with him enthusiastically. Santana and Tim were nowhere to be seen and it made me nervous, but I knew I couldn’t leave Paul to go find them.

“There’s a room upstairs waiting for us. Wanna go up?” Paul mumbled into my ear, taking the lobe between his teeth.

I pulled back violently, feeling the sting of where his teeth had just pulled against my ear from the motion. Paul was supposed to be one of the good guys and here he was being like every other stupid guy in the room. I pulled away from him without a word and immediately tore Brittany off of her date’s lap.

“I want to leave. Now.” I said to her and she looked confused, but nodded her head and set off, I knew to find Santana. 

I stormed out the front door and I could feel Paul following me. When I reached his car I opened the door and grabbed by bag, not bothering with the dress. Brittany appeared with Santana in tow on the front porch, her ear glued to her cell phone.

“Quinn, can we talk please?” asked Paul, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and standing only a few steps away from me. I couldn’t even look at him without wanting to burst into tears.

“Linden, I don’t know what the fuck you did to screw up, but get the hell away from my girl before I ripped your balls off.” Santana was defending me and I was instantly grateful that she found all of the words that were escaping me right now.

Her and Brittany walked over and hugged me, glaring at Paul until he threw his hands up and walked back into the house.

“My brother is coming to get us,” said Brittany, her fingers stroking my hair soothingly.

A few minutes later she pulled me down the driveway and into her brother’s car. The ride was silent from us in the backseat. Brittany’s brother was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel with the rock song on the radio. He pulled into the Pierce driveway and we all got out. In Brittany’s room, I changed into my pajamas and crawled under the covers wanting the night to end.

I tried to slide over to the right side of the bed like usual, but Brittany stopped me, taking it for herself and leaving me in the middle. Brittany cuddled up against my side, nuzzling my shoulder affectionately as she got comfortable. Santana was a little more tentative when she finally climbed in beside me, but her arm rested on my stomach like she always did to Britt and I basked in the warmth of being held by my two best friends.

Sleep came fast from the liquor and my exhausted body. The sun was peeking through the window and the right side of the bed was cold when I stirred. Brittany had obviously gotten up already, but the Latina was still pressed against my other side, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder and my arm was tucked around her.

I stayed still, not wanting to disturb the sleeping girl. She looked so peaceful. Her arm was holding my waist protectively and I smiled at the sight. There was no doubt that things with Santana were rocky. They probably always would be. Santana pushed limits and didn’t really take no for an answer. But seeing her stand up for me last night when I needed her and having the comfort of her wrapped up in my right now made me realize that we would always find a way to be there for one another, no matter what.

Brittany bounded back into the room, already showered and dressed for the day.

“Rise and shine, Sanny! Mom made your favorite pancakes!” The brunette groans loudly and nuzzled her head further into my shoulder, not wanting to give up sleep so soon. 

Brittany skipped across the room and climbed on top of both of us, giggling. Her mouth found the exposed side of Santana’s face and she started kissing all over it, making Santana squirm. I had a surge of jealousy at their comfortable banter. Brittany was showing her affection without any qualms and Santana was now laughing below her and leaned in to kiss Brittany on the lips to convince the blonde to get up.

Santana caught my eye and gave me a shy smile as she climbed out of the bed. Her hips swayed as she walked towards the door to head to the bathroom, her toned legs exposed in her tiny shorts. I felt my cheeks get red from watching her and forced myself to look away.

I yanked my sweatshirt over my head and pulled my toothbrush and contacts out of my bag. Santana waltzed back into the room, her hair pulled back neatly, but still wearing her little shorts and the tight tank top she had slept in. Brittany took her hand and they headed down for breakfast while I went into the bathroom to pull myself together.

Brittany’s parents, brother, and sister were all sitting at the table with my friends when I joined them in the dining room. I loved the buzz of the Pierce house. Meals weren’t very formal and there were often a ton of people around between her siblings’ friends and us. It was friendly and Mrs. Pierce always treated us like we were her own kids.

I slipped into a seat between Santana and Brittany’s brother Josh. He looked hungover and was pushing his eggs around his plate mindlessly. Brittany and her younger sister, Paige, were talking animatedly to her father. Mrs. Pierce insisted on filling my plate with eggs, bacon, and pancakes before I could protest. I thanked her and started in on my food. Santana’s plate was completely stacked with Mrs. Pierce’s banana pancakes. She had covered them with chocolate syrup and was shoveling forkfuls into her mouth happily.

Once breakfast winded down, I called my mom to pick me up. Brittany looked a little disappointed, but I knew that I needed some alone time right now. She showed up half an hour later and I climbed into the SUV, avoiding her eyes. Immediately she began asking me about prom and I gave her an abridged version, not even mentioning the after party. She seemed pleased enough by my answers and I told her I was exhausted so that I could head immediately into my room for an undisturbed nap.

I showered and got into sweatpants before I bothered looking at my cell phone. Paul had called six times and sent me a dozen text messages. I rolled my eyes and didn’t bother opening them before tossing my phone on my nightstand and grabbing a book off of the shelf in the corner.

I woke up to a gentle knocking on my door. Santana’s face appeared in front of my groggy eyes and she nudged me over before climbing onto the bed next to me.

“Want to talk about what happened with Paul?” she asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Do you actually care?” I said in annoyance. She had already expressed her hatred for my relationship.

“I want you to be happy, Q,” was her mumbled answer. I sighed deeply and rolled onto my back.

“He basically tried to get me to go upstairs with him at the party,” I said quietly, feeling my face go red with shame.

“Have you guys talked about that at all?” It was weird having Santana acting so concerned.

“We haven’t done anything but kiss, I didn’t think it was a conversation we needed to have yet.” I felt stupid, naïve even. Santana’s hand reached over and rested on top of mine.

“Guys are absolute pigs, Q,” said Santana, her fingers rubbing gently against my hand. “But if you want to continue to try to train the dog, you should probably talk to Paul.”

“Should I want to fix this?” I ask timidly. I couldn’t think of anything worse than having his lips on me again.

“Only you can decide that. But Britt is waiting for me at my house, I just wanted to check that you’re alright.”

“Thanks, San.” She squeezed my hand once before hopping off of the bed and heading out of my room. I wanted her to stay, but I couldn’t choke out the words.

Paul hunted me down right before lunch on Monday despite my best efforts to avoid him. I dragged him into an empty classroom when he tried to talk to me in the hallway, alerting the eyes of many of our classmates.

I didn’t give him a real chance to explain himself. Before he could say my name, I told him it was over and was storming out of the room.

The smile on Santana’s face when I told her and Britt at lunch was completely genuine. I knew she was glad that we were finally over and it left a lump in my throat.

News of our breakup traveled fast. Boys in all grades seemed to be working on their confidence to ask me out. It was becoming tiresome, so when this awkward junior girl asked me if I wanted to join the Celibacy club I agreed without really thinking. 

The first meeting was incredibly awkward. The whole room consisted of myself and two other girls. One was the girl that had asked me to join and the other seemed to be her best friend. After twenty minutes of talking about all the ways we should refrain from acting upon our urges, I made up a lame excuse and bolted.

But the boys kept trying their luck and I continued to turn every one of them down, much to Santana’s delight. She was like a giddy child every time she was around for one of the boys sidling up to me in the hallway to try their luck. I told her about the disastrous Celibacy meeting and she laughed at me for what seemed like an hour before saying that it’s the perfect way to repel them and agreed to come to the next meeting.

Ann, the Celibacy club president, was delighted at the turn out for the meeting the following week. Santana had basically threatened the majority of the Cheerios to show up so they were all brooding at desks at the back of the room. We spent the next hour talking about all the ways that we can tease boys without giving it up, much to the disgust of our faithful president. By the end of the meeting, Santana actually got her to quit, leaving the club in our control. That girl sure knew how to get what she wanted.

The attention died down now that I was labeled as the chastity princess. Santana and I walked to classes together now that Paul wasn’t around to fulfill those duties and we linked arms and laughed as people moved out of our way. Order seemed to be back in place.

Summer came quickly and I was thankful to wear a bikini for the first time around people. Santana’s in-ground pool became the main hangout for the Unholy Trinity. We spent almost every afternoon lying on sun loungers on the deck in our bathing suits, working on the perfect tan.

Santana’s tan skin got darker as the summer wore on and her bathing suits seemed to get even smaller. It was a Thursday and Brittany had left the day before for a family event in Columbus, so it was just the two of us by the pool today.

My breath hitched a little when she picked up the bottle of tanning lotion and began to rub it onto her arms. She glistened from the lotion and I licked my lips unconsciously. When she held the bottle out to me and turned so her back faced me, I audibly gulped and hesitated.

“I don’t have all day, Q,” she said sarcastically and pushed the bottle into my hands.

“San…” I gulped, not wanting to touch that perfect skin.

“B isn’t here to do it, so stop drooling and oil me up.” She knew exactly the effect she was having on me and I hated her for it. I squeezed the lotion onto my palm and rubbed it between my hands before shakily placing them on her very bare back. I worked the lotion into the skin, biting back the moan that tried to escape as I slipped my fingers under the string of her bikini top.

As soon as it was rubbed in, I dropped my hands from her back and scurried back to my own lounge chair. I opened up my book and pulled my sunglasses over my eyes, trying to avoid staring at Santana’s taut body.

“You’re getting burnt, Q,” she said mildly, picking up a stronger lotion than the one I had put on her an hour earlier. 

It was the first time we had spoken since I had moved to my chair, the awkwardness thick between us. She didn’t wait for me to respond before she straddled my thighs. I was lying on my stomach and couldn’t see her and the first touch of her fingers on my skin made me gasp. She worked slowly, kneading the muscles of my shoulders as she worked the lotion into my warm skin. I thought I was going to pass out when she leaned down, her hair brushing against my exposed skin and her mouth right next to my ear.

“You look so damn sexy in a bikini, Quinn,” she husked into my ear, causing a shiver to go down my spine. I tried to swallow the growing lump that was caught in my throat. “How is it possible for someone to be so incredibly beautiful?”

“San, we shouldn’t be doing this,” I whispered, though I made no effort to throw her off.

“We shouldn’t, but we can. Where is the rebel in you, Quinn Fabray?” Her voice was light, teasing me easily but her breath was hot against my earlobe.

Her lips brushed against my ear, pausing for a second. Her warm body pressed down into my back as she got comfortable on top of me. I wasn’t as surprised when her mouth was on my neck, nipping and licking gently as I was pinned to the lounge chair.

“San, we can’t.” I knew as it left my mouth that it didn’t sound at all convincing. “Anybody could walk in.”

“Quinn, we’re in my private backyard and my parents are at work,” she said, nipping at my earlobe before kissing my neck again. “But I’ll gladly take you to my room if you want.” I let out a little moan, knowing the internal battle was lost.

I let her take my hand and help me up. I let her walk me through the kitchen and up the stairs. I even let her climb on top of me as soon as I was on the bed. I definitely didn’t stop her when she kissed me deeply.

Santana kissed me for what seemed like hours, her hands tickling my bare flesh that was still left exposed by my rather skimpy bikini. I left mine planted firmly on her waist. It would be lying to say I wasn’t turned on, but I did my best to ignore the heat that was pooling between my legs.

I only came to my senses when Santana’s hand rubbed over the triangle of my bikini top, causing my nipple to immediately harden. I pushed her off of me roughly, causing her to roll onto the bed with a dazed expression, her lips swollen from the extended make-out session.

“Santana, I can’t do this. I can’t give you what you want.” The simplest touch had sobered me up; it had made all of this real.

“When the fuck are you going to stop denying yourself some fucking pleasure, Quinn?” Her voice was angry and frustrated. I didn’t have an answer for her, so I bolted out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

I was glad my sister had decided to stay in California with her new boyfriend for the summer. Brittany was gone for a week and I moped around my bedroom avoiding Santana. Frannie would have caught on immediately and would have questioned me incessantly.

On the other hand, my parents didn’t even seem to notice. My dad was working his typical long hours and hardly acknowledging my existence at dinner. Most of my mom’s waking hours were spent with her friends doing random events and social outings, leaving me with the big empty house during the day. 

Santana had called and texted me a few times and I ignored her, trying to make whatever it was that I was feeling disappear. Her latest voicemail was from last night and she sounded drunk and angry. I deleted it before listening to the whole thing. I knew I was hurting her and I was putting even more strain on our friendship, but I didn’t know how to handle what was going on between us. 

On Friday, the doorbell rang repeatedly until I finally pulled myself off of my bed to answer it. Brittany immediately wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug and I spluttered on the mouthful of blonde hair I received in my surprise. She finally pulled away and I saw Santana standing awkwardly on the porch step.

“Brittany couldn’t wait to see you,” she said, avoiding my eyes. I tried to smile at her and ended up just grimacing but nobody seemed to notice.

“We’re going to sunbathe at Santana’s. Go put your suit on!” Brittany squealed excitedly, but my gaze was still fixated on the Latina. She shifted her weight awkwardly to her other foot and her attention was focused on picking at her cuticle instead of looking back at me.

“Just go do it, Q. You know it’s not worth the fight,” she mumbled. Brittany’s face was still painted with excitement so I ushered them into the living room before trudging upstairs to put a bathing suit on. 

The last thing on Earth I wanted to do was lie nearly naked on a lounge chair next to Santana, but it seriously was impossible to say no to Brittany. I sighed and pulled on my least flattering suit: a one piece Nike suit that I only wore to do pool workouts at the YMCA. I threw a loose fitting t-shirt and a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts over it and grabbed a towel from the hall linen closet, tossing it into the tote bag that had been packed for these days all summer.

Brittany grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the house, barely letting me stop to lock the door behind me. It took no time to walk the couple of blocks back to Santana’s house and I let Brittany pull me through the gate in the fence and into the backyard. 

Santana mumbled something and disappeared into the house, leaving Brittany and I to settle in. I couldn’t relax, but I listened to Brittany tell me about her trip. 

Santana re-emerged ten minutes later holding a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses with a magazine tucked under her bronzed arm. Her tan had gotten even darker in the week I hadn’t been here. She had changed into a tiny navy blue bikini with little white polka dots on it and I couldn’t deny that it looked absolutely perfect on her.

“You look hot,” said Brittany, shamelessly raking her eyes over Santana’s exposed skin. Santana smiled shyly at the tall blonde before dropping the pitcher on the little table next to Quinn and pulling her aviators down over her eyes as she settled into her own lounge chair.

It was a quiet afternoon. Brittany had fallen asleep shortly after they had lain down. Santana’s nose was buried in her copy of Seventeen, obviously avoiding me. I sighed and closed my own eyes, wondering if we should try to talk about it. Talking hadn’t exactly been working for us, but it seemed like the mature thing to do.

“I’m sorry for running out on you the other night,” I said softly, pushing my own sunglasses up on the bridge of my nose to make sure my eyes were completely blocked from her gaze.

“I shouldn’t be surprised; it’s what Quinn Fabray does.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, an icy edge to my voice.

“You know exactly what it means. You run away when things get too real. I seriously have no idea what kind of issues you have, Quinn, but I’m not really interested in the baggage that you’re obviously lugging around.”

I huffed in annoyance. I’m not sure why I was annoyed; I had started this conversation to make it clear that we needed to stop whatever was going on with us for good.

“How are you just so okay with all of this? It doesn’t matter to you that you’re teasing guys by making out with your best friends at parties? Don’t you know how people speculate about you and Brittany behind your back? This isn’t San Francisco; it’s Lima fucking Ohio. People are Conservative and religious and judgmental. Doesn’t any of that scare you, Santana?” 

I was on the verge of angry now. She was being so nonchalant about this and she had been for months. I understood how people like Rachel Berry could be so open and comfortable with things like this, but she was an outcast with gay dads. Santana and I weren’t all that different from one another: we lived on the right side of the tracks in our matching mansions. Our parents belonged to elite social groups. My family was a little more religious than hers, but I knew she had a gold cross to rival my own.

I had only seen it around her neck once. I had slept over with Brittany on a Saturday night early in the summer and woke up to Santana wearing a dress that actually didn’t show off every curve of her body. It was a simple white and red sundress that went perfectly with her caramel complexion. Brittany was still sleeping heavily beside me and I could see Santana fumbling with the clasp, so I climbed out of bed to help her with it. The cross was about the same size as mine, but it had tiny diamonds inlayed. She caught my eye in the mirror as I closed the clasp around her neck and let it fall against her breastbone. It looked natural there, like it had been something that used to be a daily fixture but now only was pulled out for Sunday mass to play the role of the innocent Catholic daughter.

We went to different churches; my parents still preferred our old one so we usually drove the half an hour to it on Sundays. Santana told me that her parents rarely went anymore, but her abuela showed up at the house every Sunday morning and demanded that Santana go with her.

“Of course it scares me, Q. But what am I going to do about it? I might hide behind a façade because it’s the safest thing to do in this town, but I’m sure as hell not going to stop being me.” Her voice tried to come out as confident, but there was a waver of uncertainty behind it.

“And who are you, Santana Lopez?” I asked, partially because I was curious, but mostly because I knew she wasn’t a big enough person to admit anything despite being away from the public eye right now.

She faltered over my question, just like I had expected her to.

“The girl that does what she wants.” I could tell by her expression that she knew it was a really lame comeback, but I let it slide. She was just as vulnerable as me under that thick armor she had built around herself for protection.

We were in the backyard of Tim’s house, the party already in full swing by the time we arrived. It was the first week in August. In another week, Cheerio practice would start up again and our daily freedom would be ruined. I held onto the neck of my beer bottle, sipping it now and then as I slid through the crowd with Santana and Brittany.

It was different than it had been during our freshman year. We were no longer the naïve young meat in the eyes of the guys. The Unholy Trinity was practically untouchable. 

It wasn’t hard to notice that we were the three prettiest girls at the party. Brittany was wearing an incredibly tight aquamarine halter-top and white shorts that left a long expanse of her dancer legs exposed and was strutting through the grass in heels like a pro. Santana stuck to a pure white strapless dress that left basically nothing up to the imagination. She was wearing red peep toe pumps that she had picked up on our last trip to the mall using her dad’s unlimited credit card. They made her calves flex, showing off her strong muscles.

My outfit was muted next to them. I was in a simple pale yellow sundress with a scoop neck. Santana had moaned about me dressing like a nun, but part of me just wasn’t comfortable wearing tight clothes like her and Brittany. I had kicked off my flip-flops as soon as we got here, enjoying the feeling of the cool grass under my feet instead. I had let Santana do my hair and my long sun-kissed blonde hair fell in loose curls down my back.

Brittany disappeared into the throng in search of another beer and Santana tailed her to make sure she didn’t end up lost. I wandered around, saying hi to acquaintances and ignoring the leers I was receiving from most of the girls in the room. The boys had even less tact and I could feel their staring eyes as they raked down my exposed skin that showed off my summer tan. I wished I had the protection of Santana and Brittany, but I had mastered my own bitchy glare over the last school year and I used it to discourage most of the boys.

A tall guy that I recognized as a friend of Puck’s wandered up to me, a goofy grin on his face.

“Hey, Quinn,” he said, smiling even wider and looking even more goofy.

“Who the hell are you?” I said coldly, not really wanting to be bothered.

“Uh, Finn Hudson. We’ve met like three times already. I’m best bros with Puckerman.” I just nodded mutely at him, vaguely recognizing his vacant expression. He was kind of pathetic, but he had a puppy dog look to him.

“Oh yeah,” I responded casually, hoping he would just give up.

“I’m going out for quarterback this year, so I’m sure I’ll see you around when I get it,” he said with an arrogant wink. I was just thankful that he was finally going to walk away. To the left of his shoulder, I could see Santana grinded tightly with Noah Puckerman, his hands planted firmly on her ass and his mouth sucking at her neck. Finn was turning to walk away.

“Hey, Finn?” He looked back at me. “Walk with me to get another drink?” He looked like he had just won a major jackpot and I felt a soft spot for the kid with the goofy smile. He held out his arm to escort me and led me through the crowd.

I spent the rest of the night hanging out with Finn. He had no game and seemed to only be able to talk about sports and video games, but a lot of people were making a point of coming over to say hi to him. It seemed like he hadn’t been lying about becoming the next quarterback for the football team

When Brittany came to fetch me to leave, I was pretty drunk and I was sitting with my hand in his. He looked annoyed at the interruption, but I dropped an unexpected kiss to his lips and told him to call me before following my blonde friend.

The next day we were back to our lounge chairs by the pool. My hangover was definitely not appreciative of the bright sun and I willed the aspirin to kick in faster, pulling my dark sunglasses tighter onto my face.

Santana looked just as hungover as me, but Brittany seemed immune to hangovers. She was bouncing happily in her seat talking about how much fun she had at the party. I just groaned in response and looked over at Santana. 

She was wearing jean shorts with the fly open and a pale blue bikini top. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head and I saw the big bruise that took up one side of her neck, obviously the work of Puck’s mouth. I felt anger rise up in me that she would let a guy treat her like such a piece of meat, but I bit my lip and looked away, deciding to not open that can of worms this early in the morning.

“So Finn Hudson, huh? I didn’t realize you were into overgrown Cabbage Patch Kids, Quinn.” Apparently Santana had no problem opening it though.

“At least my neck doesn’t look like I lost a fight with a vacuum cleaner,” I retorted. Finn wasn’t the best looking guy on the team, but he had potential to be really popular this year. Wasn’t that the only real reason to date guys in high school?

“Quinn, that beached whale has no business dating someone as hot as us.”

“You don’t get to decide who I date, Santana,” I said coldly, sitting up and facing her. 

Brittany had a look of worry etched on her face. I sighed and got up to walk into the house.

I locked myself in the bathroom and stared in the mirror. Lucy would have killed just to get a guy like Finn Hudson to notice her. Now I’m being told I shouldn’t date him because he’s not hot enough. I never thought this day would happen.

The door opened and I spun around in confusion. I had definitely locked the door when I entered.

“How the hell…” I started.

“It’s my house, Q. And I’m particularly skilled at picking locks,” Santana said with a shrug.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of you breaking in on me in the bathroom?” I asked, sarcasm dripping heavily from my voice.

“Britt thinks we’re fighting and it made her upset so I told her I would fix it.”

“Of course,” I said, rolling my eyes at her.

“Is Quinnie jealous that I try to make Brittany happy?” Santana asked mockingly. 

I felt my anger rise up, my fists balled at my side. But instead of punching her, which had been my first urge, I crashed our lips together. It was the first time I had initiated any such contact and Santana seemed stunned by the invasion of her personal space for a moment before she started kissing me back.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss, but it was everything I needed in that moment. My lips pushed roughly against hers and she met mine with equal passion. Her hand was lost in my hair, pulling it hard and keeping my face against hers. 

We pulled away only when we both could hardly breathe anymore and I rested my forehead against hers, our noses centimeters away from one another.

“Fuck, Quinn,” she heaved, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath.

“Brittany is waiting for us,” I said, walking out of the bathroom and leaving a flushed Santana behind.

The afternoon was full of stolen glances. Every time I looked up from my book, Santana’s eyes were glued to me and she would smirk before turning her attention back to the magazine in her lap. After lunch, Brittany insisted we all go in the pool and Santana’s fingers seemed to graze my wet skin under the water every time she got close to me. She was having the effect on me that she desired. Despite knowing it was the last thing I should do, I desperately wanted to throw her up against the side of the pool and kiss her.

The rest of the week flew by and Sunday night found the three of us lying on the floor of Brittany’s bedroom. We had painted our toenails and eaten more pizza than was considered okay. It was the last chance we had for pizza anyway; starting tomorrow we would be back under Sue Sylvester’s reign of terror.

Brittany’s head was lying on my stomach and I played with her fine hair absentmindedly, thinking about what sophomore year would hold. If Finn made quarterback this week like he said was inevitable, we would probably be a couple by the time school was back in session.

We slept over Brittany’s that night and groaned when the alarm went off at 6 a.m. The first week would be double sessions like last year and I was not looking forward to running so early in the morning. We got up and slipped into Cheerio t-shirts and red shorts. It was technically tryouts, but I wasn’t really worried about our spots on the team and I knew we’d have Varsity uniforms on by Friday.

The morning session was beyond brutal. Coach Sylvester ran us up and down the length of the football field for hours, trying to immediately weed out half of the new girls. It worked; by the afternoon session we had lost at least a dozen girls. That didn’t make it any easier. Most of it was conditioning as well and I could literally feel the summer’s worth of pizza calories being burned off.

I was ready for dinner by the time she yelled in the megaphone for us to hit the showers. I turned my shower to cold in the locker room, letting the freezing water soothe my burning muscles. We had worked out over the summer to stay in shape, but it seemed like Sylvester’s standards had gotten even higher in the last two months.

Santana and Brittany were showering a couple of stalls down from me, probably together. Nobody seemed to be batting an eye at it; the two of them had been so inseparable for years that it would have probably been weirder if they actually did something by themselves. I just rolled my eyes and massaged my shampoo into my scalp.

My parents were quiet as usual at dinner, though I had no urge to talk. My whole body was already aching and it was taking all of my effort to chew my chicken. As soon as I cleared the plates, I collapsed onto my bed and fell asleep, not even bothering to climb under the blanket.

The rest of week was the same exact routine. Morning session of hellish conditioning. Eat a Sylvester approved lunch and drink a gallon of Gatorade to avoid passing out. Return for session two, which had thankfully become more cheerleading related, but involved an awful lot of conditioning still. Shower in the locker room, eat a silent dinner with my parents, and fall asleep before 8 o’clock.

I was relieved when she finally gathered us around before lunch on Friday to announce the squad. The afternoon session would only be for those that were actually on the team and would hopefully mean we were going to begin learning a routine.

Santana and Brittany’s names were called almost immediately. I got more nervous as the list went on and mine wasn’t called. Santana kept glancing at me, her eyes looking nearly as nervous as mine. I didn’t get it, I was just as fit as them and I didn’t slack off at all. Sure, I had eaten a lot of pizza, but it hadn’t affected my ability to beat the majority of the girls in sprints.

“And my head Cheerio this year is Quinn Fabray. She is my second in command, so I would encourage you to not do anything that would put you on the wrong side of either one of us.” Sylvester walked away and I just stood there with my jaw hanging open. I thought she had given me head Cheerio last year most as a punishment than anything else. But I was the actual captain this year and she had put her authority behind me that the girls were to not make my life a living hell this time.

A few of the girls congratulated me, patting my shoulder as they headed towards the picnic tables to eat lunch. Santana and Brittany waited until everybody else had cleared out, leaving just the three of us on the field.

“Head Cheerio Fabray. You’re crazy if you think you’re going to get away with bossing me around,” said Santana with a smirk. She linked pinkies with Brittany and I walked beside the two of them, not knowing what else to do. 

Finn caught up with me near the end of our lunch break. He was heading towards the practice field, the football pads on his shoulders making him look even more massive. He gave me a goofy grin and told me that he had gotten the starting quarterback position. When he asked me go to Breadstix with him the next night, I agreed despite Santana scowling beside me.

“I can’t believe you’re actually going to date that Orca,” she seethed, watching him walk away, high fiving Puck when they met up.

“What’s wrong with Finn? He’s the quarterback of the football team and he’s sweet,” I said casually, chugging more Gatorade.

“Besides the fact that he constantly looks like he’s constipated, he’s dumb as a bag of rocks. You’re like the smartest girl in the grade, Fabray.”

I blushed at the offhand compliment. He was kind of one dimensional, but he had potential to be the perfect arm candy to go into sophomore year with.

“Why does my intelligence matter for who I date? Isn’t there some unwritten rule that the head cheerleader dates the quarterback? We’ll have full reign of this school from this,” I said. Santana knew I was right. McKinley’s social hierarchy was based around the football team and the Cheerios.

My date with Finn was uneventful. Santana was right in saying that he wasn’t that smart. I was easily bored by his babble about football, but I nodded politely and ate my salad. He walked me to the door and he kissed me goodbye. It was wet and sloppy and not really enjoyable at all. I pulled away and gave him a fake smile before sliding into the house.

News of my head Cheerio status and that I was dating Finn had flown fast. I walked into McKinley on Tuesday morning with Santana and Brittany flanking my sides and people leaped out of the way of our swaying Cheerio skirts. Whispers followed us down the hallway and I basked in the attention for once, enjoying that I was the center of everybody’s attention.

Finn was waiting at my locker like an obedient puppy, his black backpack slung over one shoulder. He was wearing a polo shirt and jeans. His dark hair was sticking up messily and it was in desperate need of a haircut. I saw Puck cling onto Santana a few lockers down, his hand around her waist and his mouth dangerously close to her ear.

I let Finn place a wet kiss on my lips before turning to open my locker. He leaned against the locker next to me and was rambling on about their upcoming game, but I just tuned him out as I unloaded my bag and organized my locker. Grabbing a notebook, I let him hold my other hand as he walked me to homeroom. I was rewarded with another sloppy kiss at the door, but I gave him a little smile and walked inside. 

Sophomore year was a little harder. I had added AP English and AP U.S. History to my schedule of honors classes and by the last period of the day, I was already weighed down in homework. Santana was in most of my classes again this year, though she had chosen to not take AP English with me. We sat together at a table in the back of the chemistry lab as the teacher read over the typical first day of school syllabus. She was doodling on the back cover of her brand new notebook and I watched her slim hand move along the cardboard, engraving it with hard strokes of her ballpoint pen. There was no actual picture, just swirls and stars, but I liked watching her draw. Her brow was furrowed in mild concentration and the muscles and tendons danced in the back of her hand as she gripped the pen.

“You’re a creep, Fabray,” she whispered playfully, having caught me staring at her hands. She dropped the pen and let her hand fall into her lap. I nearly squealed aloud when I felt her fingertips graze along the pleats of my Cheerio skirt. “My hands have better uses than drawing,” she said, her voice deep. I swallowed thickly.

Fortunately, she didn’t push it any farther, instead picking the pen back up with her left hand and continuing her doodle. My face maintained its crimson blush for the remainder of the period and I bolted out of my seat as soon as the final bell of the day rang.

Finn had gym last period, so he didn’t meet me outside of class. I decided to wait up for Santana to walk to our lockers together. She strolled out of the classroom, her ponytail swaying behind her long after the rest of the class had exited. We walked next to one another in silence, stopping to pick Brittany up from Home Ec before gathering our books and heading for our locker room.

The Cheerios were spoiled. Our locker room was probably nice enough to be used by professional athletes. We each had a huge red locker with a name plate on it and at the beginning of the season, Sylvester would fill the shelf with our new track suits, personalized water bottles, and freshly pressed uniforms. When winter rolled around, our Cheerio jackets and ear warmers would be added to the mix to ensure that we could always be showing off what team we belonged to. 

There was no reason to change for practice since we were already in our uniforms, so I hung my backpack up on the hook inside my locker. My locker tended to gain extra items, probably from my head Cheerio status so I wasn’t surprised to see the shoebox on my shelf. I pulled the box out and revealed new white sneakers that had Fabray embroidered on the heel. Santana eyed them jealously as I slid my feet into them, wondering how Sylvester knew my shoe size.

Most of the Cheerios were already standing on the field when Santana, Brittany, and I arrived. They looked towards me and I remembered that I was now in charge of warm-ups before Coach arrived. I dropped my duffel bag on the edge of the track and tightened my ponytail before mustering up my authoritative voice to tell them all to get on the track. We ran a few laps and stretched before I lined everybody up for a round of sprints. Coach appeared as we were sprinting and she looked pleased with me. When I cut us off to start practice, my teammates didn’t seem to share that enthusiasm. Most of them were gasping for breath, clutching their chests. We got some water before heading towards Coach and her megaphone. The rest of the practice was spent working on technique. Head Cheerio meant top of the pyramid, which frankly scared the crap out of me. I hated climbing up my teammates to the top, where I rested my body precariously on the surface of Santana and my teammate Ashley’s backs, hoping that they wouldn’t collapse under the pressure.

I felt good after practice, my muscles tired, but not aching like they had for the last two weeks. I took a long shower, humming to myself as I did and ignoring the giggles coming from a few stalls down that I’m sure contained my two best friends. Brittany left the shower before Santana, calling goodbye to me as she passed. She had dance tonight so her mom was picking her up.

I jumped a mile when I head the stall door open behind me. I spun around to see Santana leaning against the door, her red Cheerio towel wrapped around her body, though her skin was still damp and her hair was dripping.

“Looking good, Fabray,” she said, winking at me before letting her eyes wander slowly down my body. I moved to try to cover myself, which just made her laugh. “Why hide something so sexy?” My cheeks were fuchsia now and not from the hot water. 

I turned off the water and reached for my towel, but she beat me to it. I groaned at her extended arm, keeping my fluffy towel out of my reach. I felt exposed and I wanted the cover of the towel, but I also couldn’t take my eyes off of the lean muscles of Santana’s shoulder as she stretched to keep it away from my frantic hands.

She gave me an evil smile before tossing the towel to me. Before I could even secure it around my body, her mouth was covering mine, her breath warm and her tongue gliding along my bottom lip. I nearly dropped the towel altogether from the surprise, but I kept my hand firmly on it, covering my naked body and letting her tongue enter my mouth to massage mine. She nipped at my lip and I moaned softly into her mouth at the sensation, feeling wetness flood in between my legs. Why was it only Santana had the ability to do this to me?

“Come over and study with me tonight?” she said, her voice deep and sexy as she kissed my jaw. I barely nodded, but she felt it and smiled against my throat as she kissed. 

I let her take my hand and lead me back into the main part of the locker room. She walked to her own locker and pulled out her duffel. The towel fell to the floor carelessly as she held out a tiny pair of lace panties and slid them up her legs. My eyes followed the movement, my mouth going dry at the sight. Santana knew she was being watched, but she didn’t stop. She pulled a matching bra from her bag and snapped it on, covering the beautiful globes. I had seen her naked before in the locker room, but I had never noticed how dark her areola were. I also had never wished I could take one into my mouth, but I was really having that urge right now. 

She pulled on a Cheerios t-shirt and a pair of red track pants and I scrambled to dress, feeling her eyes burn holes in me as I pulled my plain cotton panties and sports bra on. I opted for white shorts and tossed a t-shirt and a red Cheerio sweatshirt instead. I slid my feet into my Adidas sandals and tossed my uniform, towel, and sneakers into my duffel before I turned back to her.

“Ready?” she asked, a sexy smirk still lingering on her full lips. I gave another weak nod and followed her out to the parking lot where her mom was waiting for us. In another three months we would both have our licenses and we’d be able to drive ourselves home from school.

The ride was quiet. Mrs. Lopez was on her Bluetooth headset. Santana toyed with the radio and tapped her fingers on the dashboard when she found a song she liked. When Mrs. Lopez asked me if I was getting out at my house, I shook my head and she drove past it, pulling into their driveway instead. 

We headed up to Santana’s room while she made dinner. I dropped my heavy backpack right inside of the door and as soon as Santana closed it, her lips were on mine. Thoughts of my boyfriend never even crossed mine as I kissed her back, reveling in her soft yet passionate kiss. I let her push me back towards her bed and she fell on top of me as we tumbled onto it, our lips never leaving one another. My whole body was tingling with the sensation of her lips and her hands, which were firmly planted in my wet hair.

“San…” I mumbled, partially because of the amazing sensation that was spreading from where she was kissing my neck and partially because I was afraid that I was going to let this go too far.

“Just give in, Q. I know you want this as much as I do,” she said, her voice muffled by my neck. She moved down and sucked lightly on my collarbone, causing my hips to jerk up into her and she knew she had gotten the response she was hoping for. I was a goner.

When Mrs. Lopez called us for dinner, Santana yelled at that we weren’t hungry and her mom accepted that, leaving us alone. Santana’s hands were on my stomach just under my t-shirt, having already pulled my sweatshirt over my head a few long minutes ago. I was panting under her touches, desperate for more while wanting it to stop at the same time. My body was in a constant struggle with itself, trying to twist out of Santana’s grip, but also moving into it. She stayed strong on top of me, pulling low moans out of me with her mouth and hands.

The hands under my shirt inched upwards slowly. I could feel her gauging my every move, but I really had no control over the reactions my body was giving her anymore. When I felt them stop right below the swell of my breast, I took a deep breath and pulled her mouth back up to me, kissing her deeply. She took it as the answer she was looking for and she moved her hands slowly upwards again, palming my chest expertly.

“You okay?” she said softly against the shell of my ear, her voice actually expressing concern. I responded with a low moan as the pad of her thumb ran over my left nipple. I felt it tighten uncomfortably under the touch, but it felt so good. 

She continued her ministrations above my bra and I started feeling bad that my hands were lying limply on my sides against the mattress. I reached up and rested my hands on her waist. Her t-shirt had slid up and I dragged my fingers along the bare flesh, loving the feel of her softness under my touch.

Santana removed her hands and gripped the edge of my t-shirt, pulling it up. I sat up to help her get it over my head and she yanked my sports bra with it, leaving me topless and feeling vulnerable. I immediately moved my hands to cover my bare chest, but she grabbed my wrists.

“You’re beautiful, Quinn,” she said, her voice silky and making me shiver. I let my eyes meet hers and I could see the lust swirling in the deep chocolate orbs. She had shifted her body, slipping a thigh between my own legs instead of straddling my hips and the pressure on my lower abdomen felt amazing. She pulled off her own t-shirt and reached around to undo her own bra, tossing them both on the floor next to us. Santana took my hands in hers and placed them back on her sides as she leaned down to kiss me again. I let my fingers explore the skin slowly, feeling the quick breaths against her ribcage. 

Santana slid her body down mine, causing me to sigh at the sensation. Her lips brushed against the side of my breast and I shuddered. She was moving frustratingly slow, but at the same time I appreciated how she was worshipping every inch of my skin. I bit my lip harshly when her warm mouth found my nipple. She took it in her mouth and I arched my back up into her, loving the feeling of her lips wrapped around it as she rolled her tongue languidly over the hard bud.

“Fuck, San,” I hissed through my teeth. She smiled against me but didn’t stop, using her fingers to roll the other nipple to match the pace of her tongue. White heat was surging south in my body and I wanted more.

The Latina seemed to know exactly what I needed. She rolled her hips, pushing her thigh against my center and causing me to moan softly at the delicious friction. Her body was moving so slowly that it was nearly torture, but every roll of hips made wetness surge to my center and I clawed at her back, holding her close.

I was panting hard from her movements, feeling like I could explode just from the feel of her mouth on my nipple and the friction from her thigh against me. She had other plans though. She pulled away from me and I whined at the loss of her warmth body on top of mine. My eyes widened when I saw what she was doing. She shimmied her track pants down her hips and kicked them off of her feet, leaving her just in her lace panties. I licked my lips at the sight, seeing the dark patch of her arousal on the panties. She was still back on her heels and she tugged at my shorts, looping her thumbs through the side of my panties and pulling them down simultaneously. 

I fought the urge to cover myself again. Santana’s eyes were darker than I had ever seen them and I followed their path to the wetness that was glistening against my inner thighs. She moved down and kissed me on the lips. Her hands softly massaged the tops of my thighs, fingernails raking along the burning hot skin. I was mewing softly, wanting more. She moved inwards and slid her palms up close to my center. A look of surprise appeared on her face when I didn’t stop her. She cupped me, causing us both to groan.

“You’re so wet,” she said in a husky voice, her mouth against my ear. I groaned at her words, knowing them to be true. “Are you okay, Quinn?”

She had been asking me that so much tonight, taking it slow and doing everything to not scare me away. I felt bad that she was so worried about pushing me too far, but I had run away scared so many times that I couldn’t blame her. 

I didn’t respond verbally, but instead canted my hips up into her palm, looking for more friction. She got my hint and let her fingers slide through the slick lips. I groaned and moved my hips, wanting to feel more of her. She circled my clit and I had to bite my palm to keep from screaming out. Her eyes met mine and she smiled, moving slowly again and keeping her finger just out of the throbbing zone of my clit. She knew exactly how to move to drive me crazy, but I didn’t want it to end. I could feel the pressure building in my lower abdomen and it was like nothing I had ever felt before. All I could think about was how sexy Santana looked with her bare, heaving chest and her hand between my legs.

“You’re still a virgin, right?” she asked quietly. We hadn’t talked about it since our conversation about Paul after prom. I knew she had slept with two guys plus Brittany over the summer so this wasn’t new territory for her.

I nodded, my cheeks flushing at the admittance. She took her free hand and cupped my chin, pulling my face to hers.

“I’ll be gentle, Quinn. Just tell me if I’m hurting you and I’ll stop.” I nodded again, not trusting my voice. She moved her fingers down to my entrance and circled it with a little pressure, running her free hand along my arms trying to get me to relax.

“Are you ready?” She was looking right in my eyes. I bit my lip but nodded. She smiled and kissed me before I felt her finger slowly increase the pressure and push into my entrance. I tensed as it entered. It hurt for a minute, but she stopped as soon as I winced and waited for me to adjust. Her hand was still rubbing my arm soothingly and I felt so safe in her arms. When my body relaxed, I opened my eyes and she started moving slowly in and out.

I moaned at the sensation. My inner walls were pushing against Santana’s finger but I could feel it sliding in and out of me and causing the build up in my lower abdomen. She moved her other hand down to rub tight circles on my clit and I felt myself racing full speed ahead. My head was thrown back and I gripped her arm, digging my fingernails into the soft flesh.

“Come for me, Quinn,” Santana breathed, kissing my neck and jaw. Her fingers sped up and I felt my orgasm rip through me, my hips bucking uncontrollably but Santana holding on, her finger pumping in and out and drawing out my orgasm. I finally started to come down and she slowed with me until her hand stopped completely, the digit still buried inside of me. My chest was heaving and I could feel the layer of sweat shining on my skin. Santana’s lips were kissing over my collarbone and up my neck, finally meeting my lips. As she kissed me, she slipped her hand from between my legs. 

Once my senses returned, it brought the panic with it. Santana was cuddled into me, her body naked besides her tiny panties. Her fingers were running along my abs, tickling me slightly. My heart was beating fast at the feel of her against me, but I knew I had to get out of there and get away from my crazy emotions. She wasn’t even trying to get me to reciprocate; she seemed content to just lie against me. I felt exposed, missing my clothes that she had thrown on the floor.

When the feeling became too intense, I tried to roll away from her. I needed to get to my own bedroom alone as soon as possible so I could deal with whatever was going on in my head.

“Oh my God. Finn.” The words slipped out as I yanked away. It was the first time I had thought about my boyfriend since Santana had burst into my shower stall in the locker room.

“Who the hell cares about him?” Santana said crankily, reaching out to pull me back down next to her.

“San, I need to go.” Her fingers were clasped around my wrist.

“Please stop running away every time you actually let yourself feel something.” Her voice was soft, pleading with me to stay. I shook my head quickly, avoiding her eyes.

She didn’t try to stop me when I pulled myself up off of her bed and scrambled around to find my discarded clothing. My backpack was still next to the door and I slung it over my shoulder, not allowing myself to look back at the bed as I left the room.

Tears stung my eyes as I lay in bed. I had called Finn when I had calmed down and he talked for a few minutes awkwardly before we said goodnight and hung up. Santana had called too, but I didn’t bother returning her phone call, choosing instead to turn my phone off. I had left her mostly naked and alone on her bed without reciprocating after she was so loving and gentle with me. I let her take my virginity without even thinking about it, something that had completely freaked me out with Paul. 

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. I tossed and turned, wondering if I should tell Finn that I cheated on him. I knew Santana wouldn’t say anything; she cared too much about her own reputation. It was one thing to make out drunk or have people assume that she randomly hooked up with Brittany because they had been best friends for years. It was a completely other thing to admit to everybody that she had slept with Quinn.

I pulled on my Cheerio uniform and put my hair up in the signature ponytail the next morning, using makeup to hide the bags under my eyes as best as I could. Finn was leaning against my locker when I walked in and I internally groaned, not wanting to deal with my boyfriend so soon after what happened last night.

Sucking it up, I walked towards him with a fake smile plastered on my face. He obviously bought it, because he said hi and leaned down to kiss me. I had to remind myself that it was my boyfriend when I almost turned to give him my cheek to kiss instead. His lips were rough and chapped and he tried to deepen it, sliding his tongue sloppily against my lips. I pulled back and gave him another weak smile before focusing my attention on getting my books out of my locker.

He walked me to homeroom and I only let him give me a short, chaste kiss before I headed into the room, but he looked pleased enough anyway. I got through homeroom and AP English without having to see Santana, but she was in my Spanish class right before lunch.

I made it to the class before her and I sat down at our normal table near the back of the room. I had no idea what to expect, but she strode into the room with her normal air of arrogance and slid into her seat beside me. The bell rang and Mr. Schue started class before we could say anything, which felt like a relief.

About ten minutes into class, I felt Santana nudge her notebook into my elbow and I looked down at it. She had scribbled in the corner of it in her messy lefty scrawl.

Are we okay?

I had definitely not been expecting that. Santana usually worked like a light switch. She either completely shut down and ignored you or she blazed brightly, her anger like a fire. This was a side of her that caught me completely off guard. I was the one that treated her like shit, but she was checking to make sure I was okay.

Last night shouldn’t have happened, San. I have a boyfriend. I’m straight. I’m sorry that I’m stringing you along, but we really shouldn’t be doing this.

It took longer than it should have for me to pass a note back to her. I had contemplated the words, trying to sound sincere but stern.

You keep saying that, yet you keep letting it happen. You might want to re-evaluate the situation, Q. If you want to be straight, fine. But you might want to try harder. Like actually convince yourself you like kissing your boyfriend as much as you like kissing me.

It was a typical remark from Santana when she was on the verge of angry. She was pissed at me, but her first note also showed that she was worried about me. The bell rang and I felt even more conflicted than I had before.


	5. Chapter 5

Friday marked the season opener for the football team. Finn was leaning against my locker as always, this time wearing his red football jersey instead of his normal polo shirt. As I got close, I could see the nerves underneath his vacant expression. It was his first game as the starting quarterback and he had been a wreck about it all week. He kissed me lightly when I strode up to my locker. The hallways were buzzing with excitement; our football team is terrible and everybody knows it, but a night game and the promise of a party afterwards was about the most exciting thing that happened in this town.

Noah Puckerman sidled up to us, high-fiving Finn and shamelessly checking out my legs that were exposed in my tiny Cheerio skirt. I glared at him, but he didn’t even try to stop. His mohawk was freshly cut and he ran a tanned hand through it as he talked with Finn. I watched people walk to class instead of listening to their idiotic conversation. A couple of my teammates shouted hellos as they passed, eying Finn and I with admiration. 

Puck was talking about tonight’s party and his plan to get into Santana’s pants again. He was McKinley’s resident man whore and he had hooked up with Santana at the end of the summer. I had seen them together in the halls a few times together over the past few days, his hands groping her anywhere she’d let him.

The warning bell rang and Puck said goodbye, winking at me and giving me a seductive smile before heading towards his own class. Finn locked his enormous fingers with my petite ones as he walked me to homeroom. He kissed me goodbye at the door, his chapped lips scratching against mine.

School went quickly today. Since it was a night game, we had a few hours to kill before we had to be back to cheer. I got a sloppy kiss from my boyfriend before he hopped in the passenger seat of Puck’s truck and disappeared. Santana and Brittany snuck up beside me, their pinkies linked as per usual.

The bus ride home sucked and we all piled off at the stop, heading into my house together. Santana would have the keys to her brand new Mercedes on her birthday in a week so we wouldn’t have to take the bus anymore. My friends made themselves comfortable on my bed. Santana laid her head on Brittany’s stomach as they fiddled with their cell phones. They looked so at ease with one another and I felt a little left out. Santana was watching me, her brown eyes softer than I had seen them all week. I sat down at my desk instead and pulled my history textbook out of my backpack.

“You are not seriously doing homework on a Friday afternoon,” said Santana immediately. Her eyes were still fixated on me. I blushed under her intense gaze.

Brittany was still absorbed with something on her phone, leaving Santana and I to stare one another down.

“How are things going with Lumps the Clown?” asked Santana, her lips curled into a smirk.

“Don’t call him that. And things are fine,” I replied vaguely. “How is dating the man whore?” I retorted.

“I’m not dating Puck. Sex is not dating.” I could feel the weight of her answer fill the room.

“Lady kisses aren’t dating either. Right, Sanny?”

“That’s right, B.” She broke eye contact with me to smile up at Brittany.

“So when are you planning to do the deed with Hudson?” Her eyes were narrowed now, obviously challenging me. Brittany looked at me too, interested in hearing my response.

“I’m not,” I said seriously, turning my gaze down to the book on my lap. The idea of getting naked with Finn made me nauseous to be honest.

“Being the new president of the Celibacy club doesn’t mean you actually have to be a giant prude, Q.” Her tone was teasing. Brittany didn’t respond, making me relax that Santana hadn’t told her about what had happened between us.

“I’d rather be known as the prude Celibacy club president than the girl that hooks up with half of the football team,” I spat, my eyes narrowing angrily at her.

Santana was fazed by my response. She just shrugged at me indifferently and picked at her cuticle.

“At least I know how to have fun,” she said offhandedly.

“Can we go to Breadstix before the game?” asked Brittany, popping up to sit, causing Santana’s head to slide off of her stomach.

“Of course, B,” Santana said sweetly, pulling herself off of the bed and slipping her feet back into her white cheerleading sneakers. I sighed, but followed suit.

I winced as Finn got sacked again. It was the second half of the game. We were losing by four touchdowns and we were only at the beginning of the fourth quarter. He was obviously in a crappy mood and I knew he was going to be no fun tonight and I was already dreading the after party. Brittany and Santana were standing beside me as we cheered. Most people had seemed to have given up on watching the game and instead were watching us. Sylvester used football games to make us practice stunts since it was one requirement of the program that we show up for football games despite her utter hatred of the sport. I had spent the better part of the third quarter being tossed in the air and being catcalled by boys in the bleachers.

To say Finn was grumpy that evening would be a gross understatement. We had lost spectacularly: 42-0. He had thrown two interceptions that the other team had run back for touchdowns on top of the countless times he got sacked.

Now we were standing in the backyard of one of the senior football guy’s house. Finn was already on his third refill of cheap beer that was flowing from a keg in the far corner of the yard. I let him sulk miserably for the first half hour before I excuse myself to find my friends instead.

I see Brittany grinding against a guy on the patio, which is really no surprise. I feel Santana before I see her. She is standing right behind me, warmth radiating from her sun-kissed skin in the cool September air. A cold bottle is slipped into my palm. I look down to see she has handed me a red wine cooler. She smirks at me and I take a sip, suddenly nervous under her gaze.

“Where is the star quarterback?” Her mocking is obvious, but it’s the deep tone of her voice that sends chills down my spine.

“Around,” I say vaguely, keeping my eyes fixated on Brittany dancing a few yards away. Even with alcohol flowing through her, she moves gracefully.

“Brittany can’t sleepover tonight. I guess it’s just you and me.” This time I visibly shiver. Her voice sounds even lower, almost growling. I watch her walk away. The sway of her hips is exaggerated and I know she’s smirking even though I can’t see her face.

My mouth is left dry at the sight and I register the wine cooler clutched in my hand. I easily drain half of the bottle in a few gulps. It is sweet and it doesn’t burn on the way down like liquor does.

“Finn said to tell you he’s leaving if you wanted to go.” Puckerman is standing beside me clad in a white wife beater and a pair of camouflage cargo shorts. I admire his deep summer tan and the definition of his arm muscles.

“I don’t feel like leaving yet,” I say, gulping down the rest of the wine cooler. Puck looks amused.

“Then don’t.” He takes the empty bottle from my hand and strides across the yard. I don’t move from my spot on the edge of the patio and I’m surprised when he reappears beside me with a fresh wine cooler.

“Finn took off. Sorry that he’s being an ass.” This wasn’t the Puck I was used to, but I liked this version of him better.

I drained the second wine cooler quickly as well and he jumped on the opportunity to get me another. I smiled at how easy it was to get people to do my bidding.

“What the hell is going on with you and Puckerman?” Santana was poised in front of me, one hand sitting pointedly on her hips. Her eyes were filled with fire.

“I’m allowed to have friends, Lopez,” I say coolly. I can see on her face that she’s frustrated with me. Santana yanks my arm and pulls me around to the side of the house. We’re alone and I gulp at how close her face is to mine. Her fingers are still wrapped tightly around my wrist.

I know I should see it coming from my previous encounters with Santana, but I’m still caught off guard when she pushes me against the rough shingles on the house and starts kissing me hard.

She tastes like beer and kind of like cigar smoke, which should turn me off, but it mixes deliciously with her sweet vanilla lip-gloss. I groan at the combination of her body pressed against mine and the scratching of the wooden shingles on my back and shoulders.

“Let’s go home.” Her voice is deep and filled with pure lust. I bite my lip to keep from groaning again.

“I can’t, San.” My words are shaky leaving my mouth. She has me pinned against the wall and I can’t get the physical space I crave in order to get my body and emotions back in check.

“Whatever, Q.” She pushes off from the side of the house. “I’ll see you on Monday.” Santana’s voice is icy and distant this time. I force myself to repress the urge to leave with her just so the ice dissipates between us.

Instead I watch her retreat. I rest against the side of the house for a few minutes, willing my emotions to fade away. I run my tongue along my lip and I can still taste her.

I force myself back out into the party. Santana is nowhere to be seen, but I see Puck walking aimlessly with a wine cooler in one hand and his own red cup in the other. My feet carry me towards him and I grab the wine cooler, twist the cap of and chug half of it in the hopes of diminishing the taste of Santana on my tongue. He looks taken aback, but his eyes darken at the same time.

The night starts turning into a blur. Santana is nowhere to be seen and Puck hasn’t left my side all night. I have to admit that the attention is nice. The wine coolers set in and I know I’m drunk. I wasn’t really thinking when I let Puck take my hand or when I followed him up the stairs into a spare bedroom. I definitely wasn’t thinking when I cheated on my boyfriend and letting Puck climb on top of me. It’s Santana that I’m thinking about. Her soft, caramel skin and her delicious vanilla lips. Puck is none of that. He’s a rough kisser and his huge hands are gripping me tightly. I want to push him away, but his body against mine makes things feel simpler. I’m straight. I’m attracted to boys and I should be flattered to have one of the hottest guys in school on top of me.

It’s over before I can say no. Puck rolls off of me, his breathing still shallow.

“You’re on the pill right, babe?” he asks me. My head is too fuzzy to answer him. We weren’t safe. How did I let this happen to me?

It’s only the alcohol that lets me get any sleep that night. I cuddle tightly under my comforter and the tears fall silently. I’m sore and I feel awful about what I did to Finn and even more awful that I didn’t enjoy it even a little bit. I’m supposed to enjoy this and I don’t at all.

I spend Sunday locked in my bedroom. My homework is done, my closet gets reorganized, and I take a long bath. I try to keep my mind busy, but I keep straying back to Santana storming away from me and then ending up under Puck. It seems better to not tell Finn anything since it didn’t mean anything. Puck won’t say anything because I already sent him a text threatening the well being of his testicles if he does.

Monday morning comes way too quickly. I try to strut like I normally do, but my heart isn’t behind it. Finn is leaning against my locker like every morning and I don’t want to talk to him, but I have to act like nothing has changed. He kisses me as soon as I reach him and I let him despite hating myself over it. I get my books and let him walk me to homeroom.

Santana is ignoring me. I shouldn’t be surprised by it considering we spend half of our lives fighting. She rolls her eyes when Finn saunters up to walk with us to lunch and I try to ignore the lurch in my stomach that I get from upsetting her.

Finn comes over that night after practice. My hair is still wet from my shower and I’ve thrown on a pair of jeans and a blouse even though I’d rather be in my sweatpants. If it was Santana, I could be. He drops the bomb that he has joined glee club. It’s the worst thing he could say. I’m dating Finn because it’s good for my popularity. Head Cheerio and star quarterback are basically a match made in heaven, but now he wants to join the losers and sing show tunes. This is going to reflect as poorly on me as it will him. He stumbles over his words as he tries to defend himself, but I don’t give him a chance. He’s out the door without a goodnight kiss and I’m back in my locked bedroom with the tears rolling down my cheeks.

I get Coach Sylvester to let me join glee club so I can keep an eye on Finn. Much to Santana’s dismay, she forces her and Brittany to join with me so we can all spy on the club for her. Santana is pissed at me as we leave her office, but she dutifully follows me into the choir room. Mr. Schue welcomes us into the club, though it doesn’t feel very welcoming.

The rest of the glee club hates us, but it helps me keep an eye on Finn. He is fawning over Rachel Berry, this obnoxious sophomore who is the obvious star. I don’t have the energy to fight for him right now, but I hate watching them sing duets together basically every class. Instead, I up my power over the losers. Rachel Berry become target practice for every slushy thrown in the halls of McKinley.

Rachel Berry is many things: loud, irritating, grating, a horrible dresser. But there is one thing she can do and that is sing. You can’t help but listen to her when she gets going and she does every song like she’s singing on a Broadway stage. I’m a little jealous of her just because I know she will get out of this town and leave the rest of us here in Ohio.

I haven’t talked to Puck all week. He has hardly tried, but he makes a point of winking at me when we pass in the hallway and it makes my stomach turn every time. His hands keep finding themselves attached to Santana’s ass, which irks me but I know I can’t do anything about it.

We cheer on Friday night at an away game. Like usual, we get pummeled. Finn is in a horrible mood by the time we return, so I quickly turn down his invitation to go to a party with him. It’s not like Santana and I are really talking, so the whole idea is completely unappealing. Plus the idea of being in a room with Puck and alcohol again is enough to make me run to the bathroom to throw up.

I spend my Friday night curled up on the chaise lounge in my bedroom with a cup of tea and a book. It makes me feel like Lucy again and for the first time, I wish I could go back to being Lucy. She never had these kinds of problems.

My parents don’t even seem to notice that I’m actually home for once on a weekend. I sleep in on Saturday since I don’t have Cheerio practice for once. My bed feels big and lonely without Brittany’s warm figure beside mine. I eat a light breakfast and force myself to go for a run. It doesn’t clear my head like I hoped it would.

Saturday becomes devoted to getting my homework done. I’ve always managed to keep up on it despite my budding social life, but this is the first time in a while that I get ahead on my assignments. It helps me keep my mind off of everything else for a while, but eventually I just don’t have any more work to do.

I go to bed really early on Saturday. I can’t really sleep though and I hear my phone go off a few times. A quick glance tells me that I have a text from Brittany and three missed calls from Finn. I ignore them all and roll over to face my bedroom wall, willing sleep to wash over me.

Sunday morning means church. I haven’t been going every single Sunday lately, so my mom seems pleased when I appear downstairs in a dress with my hair done in time for breakfast. My dad doesn’t even glance up from his coffee and Sunday paper. I refuse the bacon my mom tries to drop onto my plate. It’s one of my favorite foods in the world, but I’ve hardly eaten it since I became Quinn. I give in to her demands that I at least have some pancakes and I sit at the breakfast bar and eat two until she seems satisfied.

I don’t think I caught one word of today’s sermon. My head is elsewhere and being in church makes me uncomfortable. It almost feels like I’m going to be struck by lightning for all of the sins I’ve committed lately. The thought is unnerving and I try to focus on the service, but my palms remain sweaty and I keep trying to wipe them discreetly on the lap of my sundress.

After church I excuse myself to my bedroom until dinner. I pull out an old sketchpad and a box of pencils and settle myself into the window seat. My technique is rusty from a few years of not being used, but the steady movement of my hand over the rough paper is relaxing and mind clearing.

Mom calls me down for dinner and I begrudgingly join her and my dad at the enormous formal table. It’s a roasted chicken night and I pick at my food, feeling nauseous about going back to school tomorrow after I’ve ignored everybody all weekend.

My mom mentions that Frannie called today and that she plans on coming home for Thanksgiving. She’s bringing her boyfriend, Mark. I smile politely and pretend like I’m excited to see my older sister for the first time since Christmas, but in actuality I’m not. I haven’t forgotten how my last major interaction went and things have only gotten more fucked up since then. Hopefully Mark will distract her enough from really paying attention to me.

It’s only the third week of sophomore year, but it feels like it has been dragging on for an entire lifetime. To the rest of the world, I’m still Head Cheerio Quinn Fabray that seemingly has life given to her on a silver platter. I wish I could shout about how wrong they are.

Santana is still doing her best to ignore me. We don’t pass notes or brush hands at all. I hear giggling coming from a shower stall in the locker room after practice and I know it’s her and Brittany. I don’t know why she kept putting me in the position of turning her down when Brittany seems more than willing to meet her needs. Still, I miss my best friends.

Finn gets Kurt on the football team as the kicker. He’s such a tiny kid and I can’t help but laugh on the sidelines when he starts dancing to Single Ladies in his football pads. He makes the kick though and we actually win a game for once. Finn is in a great mood and begs me to go to the after party with him.

I spend the night on Finn’s arm. Everybody is rowdier than usual due to the win and the alcohol is flowing fast. I sip my cup of diet coke and take in the crowd as Finn relives the glory of the win with his buddies. Puck is eying me from across the room and I glare at him. He immediately turns his attention to Santana, who happily grinds on him and is making out with him in the middle of the living room with no shame. She catches my eye as she disappears towards the stairs with him and I have an urge to slap the smirk right off of her face.

It’s a pretty miserable night and I wish I could just leave and be cuddled up in my flannel pajamas with a good book. Being popular is a lot more work than I ever thought it would be. 

Finally Finn hits the point of no return. He is wasted and is acting like a complete idiot. I fish his keys out of his jean pocket and a couple of the guys help me get him into his truck. I won’t have my license for another couple of weeks, but I want to leave and I’m the only one sober enough to drive.

Santana appears in the driveway and asks me what I’m doing. When I point to the obliterated Finn passed out in the passenger seat, she groans. She tells me to just leave him there and offers for me to catch a ride with her and Brittany. It feels weird when they drop me off at the end of my driveway knowing that they’ll both be sleeping at Santana’s that night.

I spend another weekend of closing myself off from the world. At this rate, I’m going to finish all of my schoolwork for the next three months. I run to the park in the late afternoon on Saturday and I see Santana and Brittany laughing by the edge of the lake as they feed the ducks. It’s starting to feel like autumn, but they are still wearing shorts and I take in the expanse of Santana’s slim legs. I run past them, knowing they didn’t see me and head back to my house to spend more time isolated from everybody.

Puck has joined glee. I thought glee was bad enough with Finn making googly eyes at Rachel Berry and Santana not talking to me. He wiggles his eyebrows and makes his way to the back of the room to sit near Santana and Brittany. A couple other football guys join as well and Matt grabs the chair next to me and gives me a shy smile. He seems a little intimidated by me, but it’s nice to not be sitting by myself anymore. Finn is sitting in the front next to Berry like usual.

The week moves impossibly slow. I start spending my lunch periods in the library reading or studying. It’s a lot less awkward than sitting in silence between Santana and Brittany every day. I don’t think our friendship is ever going to go back to normal this time. 

My period should have started by now. Puck’s words about the pill keep swimming through my mind. I hunt him down after lunch and he freaks when I ask him what he meant by that. My worst fears come true when I see the alarm in his eyes. 

I cut class for the first time ever. I can’t bear to sit here and pretend like everything is okay. Coach will probably kill me for skipping Cheerio practice, but I just can’t bring myself to go.

After dinner, I tell my mom I’m going out and I walk to the drug store. I throw a pack of gum and a couple of magazines on the counter along with the pregnancy test. The old lady that is ringing me up gives me a sympathetic smile as she tucks it into the plastic bag. 

I walk right past my house and ring the doorbell at Santana’s. Her mom answers and looks surprised to see me, but lets me in and sends me up to Santana’s room. I knock gently on the door and she calls for me to enter. She’s lying on her bed in a tank top and baggy pajama pants, her chemistry textbook propped in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, rolling her eyes and turning back to her book.

“San.” She sighs and looks back at me. “I think I’m pregnant.”

The distance that her jaw drops is on the verge of comical, but I can’t bring myself to laugh. She is gaping at me, obviously speechless and I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. 

We stare at each other for a long time before she finally speaks.

“You slept with Finn?” Her voice is quiet and shaky. She looks down at her nails and starts picking at a cuticle.

“No.” I don’t feel like explaining how badly I screwed up. The tears start spilling over and they are scalding against my cheeks.

“Who?” My heart clenches. Puck is basically dating Santana, even if they aren’t putting an actual label on it. 

“Noah.” Her eyes flit up to me before looking away immediately. I can tell she has severely conflicting emotions. I should know considering I do too.

She stands up and walks across the room, stopping a foot in front of me.

“You didn’t use protection?” Her voice is urgent now, needing to know how serious the situation is. This is protective Santana.

“I thought he had it covered and then afterwards he asked me if I was on the pill.”

“What an asshole. God, Quinn, why?”

I can’t answer that question. I can’t look Santana in the face and tell her I slept with Puck because I couldn’t stop thinking about her lips on mine. I shrug my shoulders and her face is hard. She starts pacing around her room, playing with the pen in her hand as she thinks.

“I got a pregnancy test,” I say, holding up the pharmacy bag. “I can’t do this by myself, San.” I’m whispering, but she hears me and turns back towards me. I can see the tears in her eyes that she’s trying valiantly to hold back.

“Bathroom. Now.” She throws open her bedroom door and I slip across the hallway to the bathroom. Santana is right behind me and she enters too, locking the door behind us. She sits on the edge of the tub, her face in her hands. 

My hands are shaking too much to get the test out and read the instructions. Finally, she just pulls them out of my hand and tells me step-by-step what to do. She sets the timer on her phone after I pee on the stick and sits it on the edge of the sink. Her hand finds mine and it is shaking nearly as bad as my own.

“What are you going to do if it’s positive?”

“Can we just please pray that it’s not?” I don’t even want to entertain the idea that I could actually be pregnant.

The ten minutes it takes for the test to be ready are the longest of my life. The tears have stopped coming, but I can’t get control of the shaking. Santana is grasping my hand tightly as the timer goes off.

“On three?” She asks quietly and I nod. She counts to three softly and picks up the test, holding it up so we can both see it.

I’ve never been glad to a negative sign in my entire life. Santana’s tears finally start spilling over and she releases my hand. Before I can say anything, she has left the bathroom. I clean up before following her back to her bedroom.

“Damn it, Quinn, you can’t do things like this to me.” She’s pacing, more frantically this time.

“I’m sorry, Santana.”

I grab her arm, stilling her from her pacing. She looks up at me, her eyes ablaze with residual worry. Without thinking about it, I pull her into my arms and hold her there as I try to calm us both down.

“Stay over.” It’s not as much a demand as it is a plea. I don’t respond, but I move us over to her bed and pull her down next me. I pull the blanket up to our chin and we hold one another there. It’s only 8 o’clock, but I’m drained and Santana’s breathing seems to be returning to normal.

We are still tangled together when Santana’s alarm goes off in the morning. I know I’m going to be in trouble if my parents realize I didn’t come home on a school night, but right now I’m more fixated on the dark brown eyes that are sleepily gazing into mine.

“Morning, Q,” she says casually before rolling out of the bed. “Towels are on the bottom shelf and you can wear my extra Cheerio uniform today. Extra toothbrushes are under the sink in the bathroom.” 

I pull the towel from her closet and disappear into the bathroom. The hot water feels great and my body is starting to relax for the first time in weeks. I wash with Santana’s body wash and I feel surrounded by her sweet scent. 

I wrap the towel around my body and pad back into her room when I’m done. She has showered too and she’s sitting at her vanity in her underwear blowing her hair dry. I avert my eyes and feel glad that I had put my own underwear back on in the bathroom underneath my towel. She has left two Cheerio uniforms on the bed and I pick one up and slide it on. We’re pretty close to the same size, so it fits me pretty well. 

Santana turns off the blow dryer and pulls her uniform on before heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth. I take her place at the vanity and dry my long hair before pulling it up into a ponytail. It doesn’t have its normal bounce, but I just don’t care today.

She reappears in the room and pulls her own hair up into a ponytail. Hers looks flawless like usual. She feels distant this morning and I stay quiet to avoid the inevitable conversation.

“My parents already left for work. Wanna just grab coffee on the way to school?”

I nod and she picks up her backpack and I follow her out of the room before realizing that I don’t have anything for school.

“San, can we stop by my house so I can get my backpack?” She gives a tiny nod and we clamor into her new Mustang that is parked in the driveway. The car idles in my driveway as I sprint up to my room and grab my bag. Thankfully my mom had a breakfast meeting and my dad already left for work so I don’t have to face them this morning.

The music is blasting in Santana’s car when I return and I take that as a silent understanding that we aren’t going to talk this morning. We arrive in the parking lot alive despite Santana’s terrible driving and I fight the urge to kiss the ground.

I groan under my breath at the sight of Finn at my locker and Santana hears me and lets out a little chuckle before heading to her own locker. They have a game tomorrow and Finn is wearing his letterman jacket over his polo shirt today, a cocky smile on his face. They’ve only won a single game, but you would think they are incredible by the way he’s acting.

Across the hallway, Rachel freaking Berry is making puppy dog eyes with him and I just want to vomit at the sight. He seems oblivious that I have sidled up to my locker and have started putting in the combination.

It doesn’t take much to set me off and Finn stammers when I lose it on him when he’s not listening. I hear him whisper “scary Quinn” under his breath before he trudges away instead of walking me to class like usual.

I’m still in a terrible mood by the time the lunch bell rings. Santana and I walk out of class together and I start to walk towards the library. I don’t feel like facing the cafeteria full of eyes watching me. To my surprise, Santana follows me instead of heading to lunch. I eye her curiously when she sits down at the table across from me and pulls her sandwich and her history notes from her backpack.

We sit in silence for most of the period, Santana reading over her history while I work on an English essay. It’s nice to have some company nonetheless. With ten minutes left in the period, she looks up from her reading as I’m zoning out. She waves her hand in front of my face to get my attention and I look at her. I see the soft side of Santana, her brown eyes radiating warmth.

“You ready to talk about it?” She asked, her fingers raking across the back of my hand on the table. I resist the urge to yank my hand away.

“I was stupid, Santana. What is there to really discuss?” The library was practically deserted so there was little chance we’d be overheard, but I really didn’t want to discuss it.

“You can’t just pretend that this was all just a bad dream, Quinn. You cheated on your boyfriend and thought you were knocked up. I know you better than you’re giving me credit for and I know you’re not okay right now.”

“I’m breaking up with Finn.” It had been in the back of my mind for the past couple of weeks but I couldn’t take the guilt anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

I wanted to break up with Finn. I was sick of hiding behind him. I was tired of trying to avoid cringing every time he laid a sloppy kiss on my lips in the hallway. But breaking up with Finn would make us McKinley’s biggest gossip and I didn’t feel like enduring the whispers as I walk down the halls.

“How do you stand them?” Santana was sitting next to me, her gaze focused on my boyfriend and Rachel Berry singing yet another romantic ballad to one another in the choir room.

I shrugged, realizing I wasn’t even bothered by it anymore. Rachel could have Finn if she really wanted him so badly.

“Look, I get that you’re not into man boobs, but you’re going to kill your rep by letting the school outcast openly flirt with your not-so-hunky quarterback boyfriend.”

“I don’t care about my reputation, Santana,” I muttered back, picking at my cuticles instead of watching the performance.

“Bullshit, Fabray. Do something about your man.”

Finn and I were the poster children for the ideal high school power couple. I felt nothing for him romantically, but being in a pointless relationship did help my image. It was Rachel Berry that I wanted to kill. I couldn’t understand Finn’s fascination with her.

Santana grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the choir room when the bell rang. I was confused until we came to an abrupt halt in front of Berry’s locker. Santana looked pointedly at me; she was forcing me to maintain my reputation.

“Take care of this, Q,” she said before shoving me forward.

“What can I help you with, Quinn?” Berry asked in her overly bubbly tone.

“Good morning, Ru Paul. This is my only warning. Stay the hell away from my boyfriend.” My face was fixed in my head bitch glare, which usually caused people to shrink away, but Rachel didn’t even blink.

“Finn and I strictly have a working relationship. As the leads in glee club, it is imperative that we have strong onstage chemistry if we are going to win at Sectionals. Also, isn’t it Finn’s decision as to whom he spends time with?” The girl casually took her books from her locker before slamming it closed.

“I’m not a person you want to mess with, Berry. Stay away from Finn or I will make your life a living hell.” With one more icy glare, I walked away with Santana on my tail.

I saw Rachel and Finn talking at the end of the hallway after the last bell. Santana grabbed my arm and dragged me to the Cheerio locker room.

“When the hell are you going to break up with him?” she asked as we threw our stuff into our lockers and started to walk out to the field.

“He’s a good guy, San.”

“He’s lumpy, a horrible kisser, and he thinks a real date is using a coupon at Breadstix. Seriously, Quinn, just let him free so he can hump the hobbit and you can stop pretending to actually give a fuck about him.”

I didn’t have time to respond to her; Coach Sylvester was yelling at us to warm up. I avoided Santana during practice because I knew she wouldn’t stop about Finn. Brittany took off after practice for her Motocross practice. I trudge behind Santana to her Mustang and get in knowing my other option is to walk home.

Santana drove right past my house and pulled the car into her own driveway. I knew better than to question her because it would only start a fight, so I texted my mom to say I was eating dinner at the Lopez’s house and followed Santana up to her bedroom.

We didn’t talk for a while. I lounged on her floor and pulled out my English book while she flipped through channels on the big screen TV attached to the wall. I felt uncomfortable being in this room with her, but I didn’t know how to excuse myself from the situation.

“Why are you still with Frankenteen?” Her eyes were soft as she looked down at me.

“We’re the it couple, Santana. Why wouldn’t I be with him?”

“Because you feel absolutely nothing for him and you could have anybody you want at McKinley.” It was the complete truth. But not having Finn meant the bombardment of attention from guys I didn’t care about.

“It’s just easier this way,” I murmur, turning back to my book.

“You said that you were going to break up with him after the Puck fiasco. It’s been two weeks since then, Quinn.”

“Why do you even care? Sorry I slept with your boyfriend. Believe me, it won’t happen again.”

“I’m not dating Puck.” Her voice is eerily quiet and calm.

“Well why aren’t you? He’s obviously into you and you don’t seem to be turning down his affection.”

“I don’t have feelings for him, just like you don’t have feelings for Hudson. The difference is that I’m not leading Puckerman on.”

“What happens if I break up with him? I deal with the onslaught of guys with no game that I don’t care about.”

Santana moved swiftly off of the bed and laid down on the floor next to me.

“Who needs boys?” she whispered, her face inches from mine. I felt my breath catch in my throat.

She closed the distance between us and I felt the warmth in my stomach that I never felt with Finn or Puck. It was undeniably something that I only felt with the beautiful Latina.

Her lips were sliding against mine, her tongue darting out along my bottom lip. She pushed on my shoulder and rolled me onto my back before clamoring on top of me. I let a small moan escape as she bit down on my lip and it spurred her on. Her tongue pushed into my mouth and I let mine run along hers, relishing in a taste that was distinctly Santana.

I let her hands run along my sides and slip under my Cheerio top, her hands soft compared to the rough material. She moved her mouth slowly down my jaw and neck, leaving a line of wet kisses in her wake. Her tongue started moving faster, pushing against my pulse point and making me squirm underneath her.

“Does Finn make you feel this good?” asked Santana in between her assault on my neck. She sucked on the sensitive skin at the base on my neck and I knew she was making sure that she left a mark.

I bit my lip to refrain from moaning again and she lifted her face to look at me. She smirked before leaning down and kissing me on the lips again, more aggressively this time.

“Bed,” I whisper softly, hoping she gets the hint. Fortunately she does and she sits up and pulls me with her until we’re on her bed. I don’t know what possesses me, but I push her back and climb on top of her. 

Santana smirks at me, obviously amused at my random burst of dominance. She leans up and captures my lips again, threading her hands into my hair and pulling my face tightly to hers, deepening the kiss.

Without warning, she pushes me and we roll again so that she’s back on top. This makes me release a giggle; it’s always a fight for dominance with Santana. Her hands tug painfully at my hair as she keeps kissing me. My lips are bruised from the pressure and my breathing is shallow, but I can’t convince myself to pull away from her.

Her hands pull away from my hair and she grips my face, holding me in place as she shifts and lets a leg slide in between my thighs. She groans as I groan and I involuntarily cant my hips into her. Santana is grinding into me and her lips taste like vanilla and it’s comforting and a turn-on all at once.

“Santana,” I say quietly against her mouth and she grinds down into me.

“Hmm?” Santana mumbled as she moved down my neck, reaching underneath me to rip down the zipper of my uniform top.

I didn’t know what I wanted to say to her. My mind was torn between telling her we shouldn’t be doing this yet again and yelling at her to fuck me. Like usual, Santana could hear my internal debate and answered by throwing my arms above my head and tearing my top off of me.

“Only you could make a Cheerio sports bra look so damn sexy,” she said, immediately attaching her mouth to my clavicle. My cheeks flushed, but Santana didn’t notice as she moved down and let her mouth graze over my hardening nipple through the bra.

My hands find her back and I pull at the zipper of her top desperately, wanting to feel her smooth skin against mine. She pulled back from me with her pupils blown and a smirk on her face as she finished undoing her zipper and yanked the top over her own head before moving her mouth back down to my painfully hard nipple.

I groan quietly and my fingers tug her hair loose from the ponytail before weaving into the silky dark locks. Her hips are rocking against mine and my need keeps growing. She nips forcefully at my nipple and my mind stops worrying and just focuses on the intense pleasure and equally intense torture Santana was providing.

I don’t protest when she removes the rest of my clothing and I get her bra off before I get lost in ecstasy from the way her fingers and hips are moving against mine. She has two fingers buried deep inside me and I’m rocking against them, panting heavily as I speed towards my release. 

She speeds up and my walls clench tightly around her slim fingers, holding her in place as my orgasm takes over. I’m biting my lip so hard to stop myself from screaming her name that I’m sure that I’m going to break the skin, but before I get the chance her mouth is on mine and I taste myself on her tongue. It causes my hips to buck again, involuntarily this time, and I am turned on again seconds after my orgasm. I need to touch her.

Santana seems to sense my thoughts and rids herself of her skirt and underwear in one fluid motion before dropping them on the floor with mine. She is sitting back on her heels hovering over my leg and I can see the glistening of her wetness on the inside of her thighs. I feel a surge of heat between my own legs at the sight and I lean up to pull her back down on top of me.

We are kissing furiously and Santana is grinding against my thigh, but this time I can feel her slick heat working against my leg. I’m not sure why, but it’s incredibly sexy. I let my fingers graze her nipple and she jerks, pushing more of herself into my hand and grinding harder against my leg. I continue my tentative movements and she is getting more frantic and frustrated.

“Jesus, Quinn, just fuck me already,” she says, her voice deeper than usual.

My hands are trembling and she grabs my wrist, leading me slowly down her hard abs. I can feel the muscles jumping under my fingertips and I let her continue to take charge. Santana stops her downward movement when my hand is grazing the top of her mound. I’m sandwiched between her body and her incredibly warm hand. She’s leaving the next move up to me and I can feel my heart pounding out of my chest.

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss against my lips. It was soft and it took all of my effort to not groan against her mouth. Her hips were moving very slightly against my thigh again and I just wanted to find a way to be even closer to her.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not okay with,” Santana says softly. Her lips brush against mine as she speaks, igniting another surge of heat in my lower abdomen.

The hand is removed from over mine and I’m left to my own devices. I know she wants this. I have no idea what I want, but I love how she’s reacting to my slightest touches. Dark brown eyes are black with want and her forehead is glistening with a light layer of sweat as she hovers above me.

I know I’m going to spend many sleepless hours later analyzing every second, but I let my hormones lead in the moment. My hand moves slowly down and Santana’s breath hitches when it cups her with my palm pressed against her warm skin.

The control is exhilarating. Santana is completely at my mercy for once; she is surrendering to my touch and I can’t get enough of it. With a quick shove, she falls onto the bed next to me and I swing one leg over hers and reconnect my hand with her mound. With a little more pressure, I part her swollen lips and I’m met with a gush of warm, slick moisture.

Santana’s eyes slide closed and she pushes herself into my hand slightly, urging me to continue. I let my fingers move through her wet slit and she is biting her bottom lip harshly as I move. I love the sensation of Santana handing over all control and she spreads her legs a little wider, showing me that she’s ready for more.

My fingers move slowly, tentatively as I adjust to the idea of what I’m doing. Her eyes are screwed up tightly and her lip falls from between her teeth as she lets out a barely audible moan. I’ve hit a little bump that I now understand to be her clit and she grasps my wrist, holding me against it. I rub it rhythmically and her body is moving with mine.

When her hand falls away from my wrist, I let my fingers move lower until I find her entrance. I hesitate, staring down at her. Santana’s hair is disheveled and is sticking to her forehead. Her lips are red and swollen and her chest is rising and falling heavily with her labored breathing. She looks beautiful.

Santana’s eyes spring open and meet mine. Her pupils are completely blown and I can see all of her want, but I also see tenderness behind them.

“We can stop, Quinn,” she says quietly, pulling her eyes away from mine.

“I want to.” As the words fall from my lips, I slide a finger into her. The sensation is completely foreign, but not unwelcome. It’s hot and wet and I can feel her body tensing around the intrusion. Her eyes meet mine again and her mouth is hanging open. I move the finger and her hips roll and a soft whimper escapes from her mouth.

I’m moving slowly and she’s letting me even though I know she’s desperate for more. I just don’t want to rush this. After a few minutes, I give in because I can tell my exploration is torturous for her. I pull out, causing her to groan, but immediately re-enter with two fingers. Her eyes are open again and they don’t leave mine as I begin to speed up my thrusts. Santana’s hips are rolling and little sounds escape her mouth as her inner walls clench tightly against my fingers.

I need to be closer to her, so I lean into her and meet her lips in a sloppy kiss. My hand is already aching, but I don’t stop moving as I see her getting more and more heated with every thrust. I fumble for a second, but manage to find her clit with my thumb and I press on it like she does to me. That earns me a moan from deep in her throat.

“God. Quinn. You’re gonna make me..” Her voice is raspy and her hips start to lose the rhythm as she moves frantically. I move my lips down her jaw and over to her ear. I bite down gently on it and she moans again. 

“Do it,” I say as huskily as I can manage and it seems like that’s all Santana needed. She’s rolling her hips frantically and her walls are clenched so tightly against my fingers that I can hardly move. With a rush of warmth, my fingers are soaked with Santana’s juices and she’s groaning my name.

I wait until she comes down to pull out my fingers and I wipe them haphazardly on her sheets. She pulls me in and kisses me breathlessly before letting me rest my head on her shoulder and cuddling against me.

Santana shakes me awake and I rub my eyes before looking at the clock. It’s just after eight. We’re tucked under the sheet and I’m suddenly aware that I’m completely naked with Santana in her bed. Trying to look inconspicuous, I pull the sheet up higher to make sure I’m covered.

“I’ve already seen you, Q. And in case you weren’t already aware, I think you’re fucking sexy.”

I blush and look away, keeping my grip firmly on the sheet.

“I’m starving though. You eating here?”

I give her a little nod, knowing dinner is way over at my house. Santana’s mom is used to everybody eating at different times with Mr. Lopez’s crazy hours at the hospital, Santana’s brother’s middle school football practices and Santana’s Cheerio and glee commitments.

Santana hops out of the bed and saunters across to her dresser completely naked. Her tanned skin looks flawless and I force myself to look away before she catches me staring at her ass. She pulls panties out of her top drawer and drags them up her legs before pulling a sports bra on. Leaning over, she picks up my panties and bra and tosses them to me. I smile gratefully and pull them on under the sheet before emerging.

She’s wearing shorts and a red McKinley hoodie and tosses me a pair of baggy shorts and a Cheerio sweatshirt with her name embroidered on it. I pull them on and find that they are drenched in a scent that is distinctly Santana. It’s kind of sexy to be wearing her clothes. With a jerk of her head towards the door, I nod and follow her downstairs to eat.

The kitchen is empty when we enter. I can hear Santana’s brother playing on his Xbox in the den. Santana pulls two plates out of the cabinet and loads them up with chicken and rice that is in the pot on the stove. We sit down at the bar on the island and I dig in. I shovel food in to keep from having any real conversation and Santana seems fine with eating in near silence.

As soon as we finished eating, Santana grabbed my plate and tossed them carelessly in the sink. She leaned against the counter, her arm crossed over her chest as she eyed me up.

“What are you staring at?” I asked her, letting my eyes meet hers.

“The hot girl I just banged,” Santana responded with a smirk. I flushed at her words, immediately glancing towards the entrance to the den where her brother was. “Chill out, Q. He’s got his headset on and he’s too busy killing people to care about what we’re doing.”

She walked towards me, brushing her fingertips along my jaw once I was within reach. I squirmed uncomfortably at her motion, my eyes darting around the room.

“C’mon, I’ll drive you home.” I nodded and ran up to her bedroom to get my Cheerio uniform that was thrown on her floor. I stuffed it into my backpack and pulled on my shoes before heading back downstairs. Santana was swinging her keys on her finger lazily, gazing down at her cell phone in her other hand.

She saw me enter and gave me a half smile before walking out the door and down the driveway to her car. It was only a couple of blocks and I could have walked easily, but I didn’t argue and climbed into the passenger seat. 

It took a total of sixty seconds to pull into my own driveway. I went to open my door, but Santana grabbed my arm. I looked back at her with curious eyes.

“Promise me you’re not going to shut me out again, Quinn.”

“I can’t promise you anything, Santana. Tell your mom thanks for dinner.” I reached for the door handle again.

“Quinn, please just look at me.” I rolled my eyes before turning back to her. “I’m not asking you to shout what we did from the rooftops. Just let me in for once.”

She didn’t stop me when I opened the door. I walked quickly to the front door and unlocked it. I turned to look over my shoulder at her still sitting in my driveway. I rolled my eyes again as she gave a little wave before I closed the front door behind me.

My parents were nowhere to be found like most evenings, so I just trudged up to my bedroom and shut the door. I pulled off my clothes and pulled my towel from its hook before heading into my bathroom. I let the hot water run over my skin, erasing Santana’s scent from it. I washed my long hair before shutting off the faucet. I stood there for a few minutes, not wanting to get ready for bed because I knew when I tried to sleep was when all of the thoughts were going to overtake me.

Finally I gave in and grabbed my towel, drying off my warm skin and then wrapping it around my wet hair. I padded back into my bedroom and pulled clean underwear on. I slipped into a pair of sleep shorts and a t-shirt before getting into bed.

Santana’s sweatshirt was lying on my comforter where I had tossed it as I had stripped down. Even though I had washed her from my skin, I was surrounded by her sweet scent. Without overanalyzing it, I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, leaving the hood up as my head fell onto my pillow. I inhaled deeply, feeling her around me. For the first time since this crazy shit had started with Santana, I fell asleep easily.

~!~!~!~

“Finn, you are NOT going to Ru Paul’s house after school.”

“But, Quinn..” Finn started, glancing nervously down at his irate girlfriend.

“I don’t care about your duet, I don’t care about your commitment to glee. Just stay away from her, Finn.”

I slammed my locker door in his face before storming down the hallway to homeroom, steam practically coming out of my ears.

“I hear you ripped into Finn in front of a whole hallway of people this morning,” said Santana, sliding into her desk chair next to me, a wide grin on her face.

The bell rang and I’m saved the need to answer her. Instead I immerse myself in taking notes and avoiding the glances she kept throwing my way. As soon as class ends, I throw my stuff in my bag and headed towards the door.

“Quinn, wait up.” I roll my eyes, but decide that stopping will at least keep her from shouting down the hallways for everybody to hear and I’ve already attracted enough attention to myself this morning.

She saunters up beside me and we start walking towards our next class. I’m doing my best to just ignore her, but she’s not having it.

“Why’d you lose it on Finnept this morning?” she asked.

“Because he wants to go to Berry’s house to rehearse tonight.”

“Just break up with him, Q. Do you actually care that he’s going to Berry’s house or do you just care that he’s not under your control like you want him to be?”

“What business of yours is it anyway?” I asked, getting icy. Santana walked in silence for a minute until we were at the doorway of my next class.

“You’re right, it’s not. I’ll see you later, Q.”

My head was reeling as I took my seat. Santana never just dropped things. It was almost like it was her personal mission to know everything and be involved and typically stir up drama while she was at it. I spent the whole class wondering what it meant and not absorbing any of the lesson.

Santana skipped third period, so I didn’t see her until lunch. She was sitting extra close to Brittany today and I noticed Brittany’s hand was in Santana’s lap as I approached our table.

Finn was still avoiding me and was sitting across the cafeteria with some of his football buddies and I was cursing myself for not choosing to spend lunch in the library instead. I couldn’t leave now, so I put on my head bitch mask and slipped into a seat across from Santana and Brittany.

Most of lunch was spent being ignored as my two best friends whispered in one another’s ears and giggled to themselves. I pulled out my book and read to avoid rolling my eyes continuously at them. Despite my desires for it to not bother me, I was feeling kind of jealous that Santana was giving Britt so much attention.

I fled when the bell rang and stood alone at my locker, changing out my books for my afternoon classes. I turned to walk to class and saw Finn with his hand on Berry’s arm down the hallway. She was looking up at him with huge eyes and I just wanted to scream. Instead I marched to chemistry and slid into my seat angrily.

Santana wandered in right as the bell rang and took her seat next to me. She had a smug smile on her face that seemed to fade when she saw me. I faced forward, ignoring her questioning gaze.

Fifteen minutes into class, she slid me a note and I glanced down at it.

I’m sorry I tried to interfere earlier. It’s your life and your business and I shouldn’t have an opinion on it. You okay though? You look like you’re having a rough day.

It was a big change from Santana’s typical notes that involved crude drawing of our classmates and the latest gossip. I read it over a couple of times before picking up my pen and writing two simple words before pushing the note back at her.

I’m fine.

Santana huffed audibly when she read my words and I knew she wasn’t convinced, but she let it go. We spent the rest of class awkwardly avoiding bumping elbows as we took notes, her left hand writing next to my right. It was the first time I ever really noticed it being an issue. I guess I had gotten used to the little bumps of our arms and now it felt like there was a wall on the verge of crumbling set up between us.

I sighed in relief when the bell rang and Santana waited for me to pack up my things before walking out with me. Finn was nowhere in sight even though he usually met me after this class. I shouldn’t be surprised considering he was obviously avoiding me like the plague since I had yelled at him this morning.

The rest of the day was slow and tedious. Santana spent most of our next two classes texting under the desk. Every once in a while I’d feel her glance on me and I knew she was worried that I was shutting her out again. I wanted to ease those fears and let her know that I think we were beyond that, but I couldn’t find the words.

We split up after last period to go to our lockers before glee. I got there before most of the club and crashed into a chair in the front row. Mercedes and Kurt were gossiping on the other side of the room and I just pretended to busy myself with my phone while I waited for it to start. Brittany and Santana came in, their arms tangled in one another’s and took their normal seats in the back of the room.

“Is this true?!” Finn came storming into the room, his face red with rage and holding a piece of paper out. He stopped in front of me and thrust it at me. It was a print out of JewFro’s blog and the headline was clearly labeled.

Queen Bee Quinn Fabray takes a ride on the Puckasaurus Express

“Quinn, is it true?” His voice is still angry, but he’s trying to control himself.

All I can do is nod as the tears start to leak from my eyes.

“You’re unbelievable! We’re done!” With a swift kick, three chairs next to me fall over and he storms back out of the room, leaving everybody gaping.

It’s not until a few moments later that I notice Berry standing by the door that Finn just stormed out of. She gives me a pitiful glance before going after Finn.

I get up and run out of the room and down the deserted hallway. Collapsing on a bench, I let sobs overtake me. I hardly feel the person sit down next to me until a dainty arm is wrapped around my shoulders and I’m overwhelmed by the smell of Santana’s perfume.

“I’m sorry, Q,” she says softly, her fingers stroking my hair and I let my head fall onto her shoulder, my sobs slowing down.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I say, my voice barely audible.

“Yeah, but I don’t like seeing my best friend a wreck either.” I’m a little surprised that she’s not yelling at me to get over a boy that I didn’t even care too much about. “Plus, if the rumors I heard on my way to glee are true, Finn and the hobbit aren’t so innocent themselves. We can ruin both of them easily.”

“I don’t want revenge. I just want to go home.” Santana nods and pulls me to my feet. She stops briefly at the door of the choir room and runs in to grab our backpacks before wrapping her arm around my shoulder again and leading me to her car.

She turns the radio on softly as she pulls out of the parking lot and I watch her slender fingers drum on the steering wheel as she drives. Her hair is pulled back tightly in her Cheerio ponytail, so I have an unobstructed view of her side profile. Her cheekbones are prominent and she has pearl stud earring in her lobes. They look creamy against her caramel skin and I have a random urge to lean over and kiss the smooth skin behind her ear.

The drive from school is short and she passes my house like usual and parking the Mustang in her own driveway. We don’t even bother to grab our backpacks from the backseat. We say hello to her mom and Santana grabs two Diet Cokes from the fridge before we head up to her bedroom.

Sensitive Santana was still shining through as she pulled out sweatpants and a t-shirt for me and helped me into them before forcing me to lie down on the bed. She changed as well before lying down next to me and pulling me into her. It was intimate, but oddly comforting. Tears started to slide out of my eyes again quietly and she just held me in silence as they did. And then it clicked. Santana had been the one who had been there through all of my bad days since I had transferred to McKinley. She took care of me, she was there for me more than anybody else was.

We were best friends. We had a connection and a love/hate dynamic. And if I was really willing to admit it, I have feelings for one Santana Lopez.


	7. Chapter 7

As per usual, JewFro’s blog was the talk of the school the next day having leaked the scandalous life of one Quinn Fabray. If he didn’t creep me out so much, I probably would’ve thanked him for saving me from having to explain to Finn that I had no interest in him whatsoever.

Instead, I try to fend off the bombardment of the male population that was lining up to be my next stud of a boyfriend. The morning was horrible. I was in full head bitch mode to try and keep anybody from approaching me, but half of the guys were too dumb to notice.

It wasn’t until the fourth boy tried to come up to me during lunch that Santana snapped. Before Brittany and I could stop her, she was standing on our table calling for attention. It was lucky that we were the top Cheerios honestly, because the cafeteria immediately fell silent.

“It’s true that golden boy Hudson and head bitch Fabray broke up, but that does not mean that she is interested in the pathetic supply of men that have been trying to woo her all day. Use her for your spank bank, but that’s all you’re getting. Oh, and I will personally deliver a slushy to your face if you dare approach her.”

With a satisfied smirk, she hopped down off of the table and took a disgustingly large bite out of her sandwich. Brittany was clapping loudly at the impromptu speech and I just gaped at her. Only Santana would be able to call more attention to me to make the attention go away. Nobody was even sparing a glance towards our table now.

“You’re welcome,” she said grumpily through a mouthful of turkey sandwich.

“And you’re disgusting,” I breathed with a half smile playing on my lips. To further prove my point, Santana stuck her tongue out playfully and I wrinkled my nose at the sight of her half-chewed food.

The rest of the day went much smoother. People avoided looking both Santana and I in the eyes. Finn was absent from glee club and Berry mumbled some excuse for him that we all completely ignored. Cheerio practice was even nearly bearable.

Santana dropped me off in my own driveway tonight for the first time all week. It felt weird to not be spending the evening in her bedroom, tucked away from the rest of the world. But alas, I had an English essay to write and a history test to study for and I couldn’t do those things with the distraction of Santana around.

My mom seemed surprised at my appearance when I wandered into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water before heading up to my room. She gave me a faint hello as she worked on dinner, but didn’t bother to ask me about my day or anything. It was probably better like that anyway.

The next few weeks passed as a mundane blur. Classes picked up as we rolled into October. The football team continued to lose, guaranteeing us no hope of a post-season appearance. Glee prepared to compete at Sectionals with Finn back as leading man to Berry’s leading lady. Berry spent her time wrapped up in Finn and Finn spent his shooting me dirty looks and smug grins. Santana, Brittany, and I fell back into our comfortable routine of getting drunk and sleeping, fully clothed, together at the end of the night. Santana and I continued to not talk about whatever was going on between us, but I also kept myself from building a wall to keep her out.

Halloween was only a week away. For as long as I could remember, I had hated this holiday. As a young child, my mom had insisted on dressing me up as a princess because my blonde hair was perfect for playing the role of Cinderella. As middle school and my chubby years came upon me, I was uncomfortable in a costume. Most of my classmates were starting to hit puberty, and with that came costumes with short skirts and low cut tops, neither of which were flattering on me. I also had few friends, so it wasn’t like I was going to get invited to the party anyway.

High school Halloween meant girls turned into complete sluts, if only for one night. Boys wore ridiculous costumes that usually involved some perverted pun. But girls showed up like lingerie models with hardly anything on and claimed they were something other than a slut.

Of course there was going to be a Halloween party at this girl Bridget’s house and of course she was a senior Cheerio, which meant of course I had to make an appearance. I wanted nothing to do with it and had voiced this opinion very loudly to Santana and Brittany for days, telling them as Head Cheerio, I had no obligation to go to a party hosted by one of my minions.

But they disagreed. Brittany pouted ruthlessly at me and Santana told me to get over my shit. So here I was in the freaking Halloween superstore in the Lima mall with my best friends, trying to pick out a costume that wouldn’t make me look like a complete whore. 

It was proving impossible. The shelves were flanked in sexy candy stripers, sexy pirates, sexy maids, even sexy nuns. The bright green M&M costume was looking very tempting at this moment, though I knew Santana would never allow it. Couldn’t I just wear my Cheerio uniform since every other girl would not be wearing hers?

“We found the perfect costumes!” squealed Brittany, running towards her with Santana sauntering up slowly behind her.

“Oh yeah?” I mumble disinterestedly, my eyes flitting back towards the M&M.

“Charlie’s Angels! I mean we’re sexy as hell and we can wear tight black clothing and there are three of us. It totally fits!” Brittany was fixated on this idea, so I knew I was basically stuck. Santana shrugged at me, obviously having already given into the idea.

“Fine, but I get to be Cameron Diaz.”

“Done! Now let’s go! We’ve got shopping to do that doesn’t involve the costume store!” I sighed, but followed my bubbly friend out of the store.

The following Friday rolled around quickly and I’m standing in Santana’s bedroom, feeling uncomfortable in my tight black pants and revealing black top. Brittany is excitedly flitting about in her own black pants. I should have picked Drew Barrymore – Brittany’s outfit involved a black jacket that covers most of her skin. Santana is wearing a tiny pleated black skirt that I would swear she had borrowed from Berry except that I was with her when she bought it. Her shirt is a tiny, sleeveless fake leather number and she’s wearing knee-high black stiletto boots. Simply put, she looks smoking hot.

I keep from staring at her in the mirror as I straighten my long blonde hair, although hardly. She’s flaunting herself by bending over constantly in the tiny skirt and I don’t know if the show is for me or for Brittany, but I know my blonde friend is hardly keeping her eyes, hands, or mouth to herself. And it’s really starting to rub me the wrong way.

As soon as my hair is done, I get up, leaving Santana the seat to straighten her own hair. I grab the bottle of vodka from her hand and take a large, deep swig straight from it before following it with a sip of my Diet Coke. The burn lingers in my throat for a long moment before the soda eases it. It hurts less than watching Brittany’s mouth attach itself to Santana’s neck and hearing the Latina giggle animatedly.

It was only a ten-minute walk from Santana’s and it was pretty warm out for the end of October. The vodka was definitely keeping me even warmer as we walked. I teetered slightly in my heeled boots, though Santana marched on in her stilettos with her hips swaying deliciously. Brittany clung to Santana’s arm as they walked a little in front of me, causing me to scowl.

The party was crowded when we arrived and I felt the curious eyes on me as Puck kissed me hello on my cheek. He gave me a once-over before turning to do the same to Santana and Brittany. I rolled my eyes at him and Brittany explained to him the brilliance that was our costume before we moved deeper into the room.

As expected, we were surrounded by guys dressed up as ridiculous random things and girls prancing around in little more than their underwear. Across the room I saw Finn on a couch between two blonde freshmen that were JV Cheerios. Rachel was conveniently absent as he ran his hand up the bare thigh of the one on his left and whispered into the giggly girl’s ear.

The night continued to be more of the same. I avoided Finn and his flaunting of any girl that came near him. I avoided the seductive dancing of Brittany on everybody, though she lingered on Santana the most. I immersed myself in vodka and Diet Cokes while keeping a consistent safe distance from Noah Puckerman. And by the end of the night I was positively exhausted from all of the avoiding and drinking.

I slumped on the couch nursing my fourth, or was it my fifth? Santana and Brittany had moved beyond body shots and were making out to the chats of a group of football players, including my ex-boyfriend and my virginity stealer. I just wanted to leave, but even I knew I was way too drunk to walk home by myself and if I showed up at my house, my father would murder me and then ground me until I was thirty.

So I picked the next best option. I stormed through the crowd of meatheads, pulled Brittany off of Santana’s lap and kissed her. Santana’s eyes were burning holes in the side of my head, the boys were going crazy and Brittany enthusiastically kissed me back. I pulled away from her, swayed on the spot for a moment before plopping down in Santana’s lap and kissing her. It was longer and rougher and the boys became white noise as I tasted beer and cigars and something sweet that I think came from Brittany. When it got hard to breathe, I pulled our lips apart and moved mine to her ear.

“We’re going home. Now.” 

I pushed myself up from her lap to the dismay of a dozen football players. Right in front of me when I began to walk away was Finn, his mouth hanging open stupidly and his pants looking a little tight in the front. He shifted uncomfortably under my glare before moving out of my way. Santana and Brittany followed me, no questions asked.

The cool autumn air felt good as we began walking home. Brittany took her place in the middle and linked her left arm through my right, taking Santana’s arm on her right. We walked in silence for a few minutes, stumbling and giggling occasionally from all of the alcohol coursing through our veins.

“Quinn, you were fucking hot tonight,” Brittany said happily, tightening her grip on my bicep. “I totally knew you had a thing for girls.” 

If I had been drinking, I would have spit it out everywhere. Instead, it felt like a cinder block had landed on my chest. What the fuck had I been thinking? As if I hadn’t been the headline of JewFro’s blog enough this week already!

“I don’t, B,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“You totally kissed Santana like you knew what you were doing.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered awkwardly, knowing it was fruitless. Brittany read people like regular people read books.

“I don’t blame you. Santana is the best kisser I know.”

I didn’t bother replying. I wish I could see Santana’s face for some comfort, but instead I just had the side streets of my neighborhood leading to Santana’s house as scenery.

The rest of the walk was quiet besides Brittany’s humming. We didn’t speak. Santana punched in the security code at the front door and we crept in as quietly as three drunken fifteen year olds could. We stumbled up the carpeted stairs and into Santana’s bedroom.

I grabbed my bag and headed into the bathroom before the other two, quickly pulling off my costume and changing into my pajamas behind the closed door before brushing the taste of vodka out of my mouth. I pulled my contacts from my eyes and shoved my glasses on my nose before heading back. When I got back to the room, Santana and Brittany were cuddled up, their costumes in a messy pile on the floor. They were giggling, their faces mere inches apart. I closed the door quietly and flicked off the light before climbing over them to my spot. Brittany immediately grabbed hold of me and forced me to cuddle with them. If I hadn’t been so drunk and needy, I probably would have protested, but instead I leaned into her warmth and drifted off to sleep before I even felt Santana’s fingers on mine.

It was still dark out when I stirred. At first, I was confused by the sudden interruption to my sleep. My glasses were on the nightstand by Santana, so I couldn’t read the clock. 

There was a giggle that definitely came from Brittany. It sounded muffled and I froze to the spot, my eyes fixated on the dark red wall of Santana’s bedroom. There was another giggle and a little moan. Oh my god, they were totally fooling around. I was lying in the bed inches from them, supposedly fast asleep, and my best friends were fucking like rabbits.

I had two options: let them know I was awake and deal with the awkwardness, or pretend to be sleeping and be a perv for listening to my friends have sex in the bed next to me. Suddenly Santana’s queen sized bed seemed too small for the three of us. There were a couple more muffled moans and whimpers and the bed shifted in a slight rocking motion. They were actually going to fuck with me lying there.

Only days ago I had been writhing on these sheets from Santana’s skillful touch. Now from the sound of it, she was using that same skill on the other blonde. I wanted to roll my eyes and go back to sleep, chalking it up to being typical Santana and Brittany. But my chest ached at the idea. Santana was probably knuckle deep in another girl only inches, centimeters away. So I did the most logical thing that crossed my mind: I fake coughed.

The bed went incredibly still. I could hear their shallow breaths ring out in the silent room. It was the epitome of awkward. What was I thinking? I could have just played the part for ten minutes and then we could avoid ever having to speak about this.

“Quinn?” Brittany’s voice rung out loudly in the eerily quiet room. I still had a chance to pretend that I coughed in my sleep. Who was I really kidding?

“I, uh, I think I’m going to just sleep on the floor,” I said, pulling my pillow to my chest and climbing off of the foot of the bed and grabbing a quilt from Santana’s chair before moving to lie down on the carpet.

“You don’t have to run away. You can join us if you want.” I blushed deeply at Brittany’s invitation. She was so keen at reading people, yet so innocent and naïve. There’s nothing I wanted more than to be away from them, from that bed.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t move. I just laid on the floor of Santana’s room and stared at the ceiling willing my body to let me take one deep breath.

I heard Santana whisper something, but I couldn’t make out the words. I heard the rustling of sheets. And a few minutes later, I was graced with the sound of Brittany’s deep, even breathing.

Santana was still awake. There was no doubt in my mind. I had fallen asleep to the sound of her soft snoring so many times over the past year. She was awake and lying in her bed with Brittany undoubtedly cuddled tightly into her, possibly with articles of clothing missing. And I was lying on her scratchy carpet with a pillow that smelled like Santana and a blanket that smelled like Santana wishing I could actually feel Santana.

We didn’t speak. We laid in silence with me on the floor and her in the bed. Did I really think that what happened the other night meant anything? God, I was so stupid. I mean, she’s Santana fucking Lopez. Next to Brittany, she’s the biggest flirt at McKinley. I’ve never been to a party with her where she hasn’t hooked up with at least one person. Yet somehow, I thought that maybe I meant something to her. That I was more than just someone to pass the time with by rolling around naked in her bed. Brittany had been there first, I knew that. Yet somehow, it had slipped my mind.

I heard her sigh and rustle around in the sheets again. I wanted to scream at her. Even tears would be welcome at this point if it meant the heaviness that had settled on my chest would ease. But I did nothing. I laid on her carpet and willed sleep to overcome me and prayed that it would be a bad dream in the morning.

The sound of Santana’s alarm clock was the next thing I heard. At some point, my body must have given itself over to exhaustion. I rubbed my eyes and could feel the stiffness in my joints from sleeping on the floor. That’s right, I’m sleeping on the fucking floor of Santana’s room.

Brittany was a freaking ray of sunshine like always as she bounced around on the bed. I pulled myself to my knees so I could grab my glasses and threw them onto my face, letting the room come into focus. Santana’s head was buried under her pillow and she groaned as Brittany bounced. A typical Saturday morning for the Unholy Trinity.

Breakfast was an awkward affair. Santana wouldn’t look at me and I was doing my best to avoid looking at her. Brittany seemed oblivious to the tension and flitted around the kitchen, flirting shamelessly with Santana’s little brother, who was blushing profusely as he tried to pour himself a bowl of Cap’n Crunch.

Santana didn’t try to coerce me to stay when I claimed that I needed to get home to do my homework. She knew better than anybody that I always left my homework for Sunday afternoon. I could see the struggle in her eyes and I know she could feel me rebuilding my walls and locking her out. But she didn’t stop me. She just shrugged and said goodbye, letting me walk home instead of driving me the couple of blocks like she normally insisted on.

Saturday flew by in a whir of productivity. If I kept busy, I wouldn’t let my mind wander. I avoided checking my Facebook, not wanting to see the three of us dressed up in our group costume. I left my cell phone buried in my overnight bag. Instead, I cleaned out my closet. I baked cookies. I did laundry and I folded laundry. I let myself get lost in a book. But I didn’t let myself think.

I crawled into bed pretty early and the whole day of keeping it out of my mind came tumbling down. I pulled the covers up, getting comfortable and was met with a lump that had been in my bed all week. Santana’s sweatshirt is tangled in the sheets where I had left it. Her scent had faded, but still was present and I pulled it into myself. The tears finally came. But my chest didn’t feel any lighter. I was angry, confused, upset, hurt. It was jumble and it sat heavily on me as I laid in my four-poster bed and inhaled the perfume that had quickly become my favorite scent.

I tossed for the better part of the next two hours, my thoughts on the other night in Santana’s bed. It had felt so natural. Santana had been sensitive, caring even. She begged me to not shut her out. But she was forcing me to do just that if I had any hope of protecting myself from getting hurt.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I tossed back the covers and shoved the sweatshirt with her name embroidered on it across the bed. I rummaged through my overnight bag and extracted my cell phone. Only one text message.

Talk to me. Please Q.

I sighed at Santana’s simplistic message. No apology, no explanation. At least she sort of begged, even though it came off even more pathetic through a text message.

Am I just a game to you?

I didn’t really expect a response tonight. Santana was surely out partying and hooking up with whomever tonight’s target was. She wasn’t one to stay in on a perfectly good Saturday night. Surprisingly, my phone buzzed with a new message a minute later

Can I come over?

It’s after 11 o’clock, San. Are you drunk?

She didn’t respond and I gave up, tossing the phone onto my nightstand and crawled back under the blanket, my heart feeling even more constricted in my chest.

I was almost asleep ten minutes later when my phone went off again. I wanted to ignore it. The lit up phone glared at me from the nightstand and finally I snatched it up, blinking at the bright screen and taking in the message.

No. But I’m outside your front door.

My mind raced with what to do. I could text her again and demand that she leave. My parents were sleeping. How would I explain why I was sneaking a girl up to my room practically in the middle of the night? That surely wouldn’t bode well with my father. Yet, my feet swung off of the bed and slid into my slippers. I pulled my own sweatshirt from my desk chair and threw it over my head before creeping as quietly as I could down the stairs. Through the glass pane I could see a figure standing on the front porch, pacing slowly.

I snapped open the lock and pulled the door open. Santana snapped around to face me. Her hair fell raggedly around her face and she was wearing pajama pants and her Cheerio letterman jacket. I walked out onto the porch, closing the door quietly behind me.

She followed me as I walked over to the porch swing and sat down. Santana slid onto it, leaving some space between us. I pushed with my socked feet and the chair rocked on its chains in a fluid back and forth motion.

“Why are you here?” I ask, trying to keep emotion out of my voice.

“I didn’t want to apologize over a text message.” Her voice was flat and serious. “I know it’s no excuse, but I was drunk and obviously wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

“So you feel bad that you tried to fuck your best friend inches away from me? Do I mean nothing to you, Santana?”

“Of-of course not.” I could hear the discomfort in Santana’s voice. She was used to never having to apologize for anything she did.

“Maybe it’s because I’m not like you, but I thought I actually meant something to you. I thought I was more than one of your random fuck buddies. But I should’ve known better.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. It was my only way to mask the hurt that was overwhelming me.

“You are more.” It came out as a whisper.

“Don’t lie to make me feel better, San! If I actually meant something to you, even drunk you would have thought before trying to fuck Brittany with me lying in the bed!” My temper was lighting up quickly.

She stuttered, trying to find words and failing. 

“In all honesty, you’re worse than Puckerman. At least with him, I knew it was nothing more than a meaningless one night stand that wouldn’t even result in a friendship.”

I looked out over the front lawn, but I could see the tears slipping silently down her cheeks in my peripheral. My first reaction was to pull her in and hold her, but I refrained, gripping hard onto the wooden swing instead as it rocked.

“Quinn…”

“What, Santana? You’re single and young and sexy. You’re free to do as you please. But I’m not going to be a pawn in your games.”

“Quinn, I’m sorry…” she began again, but I cut her off.

“Save it. We’re friends, teammates, but that’s it. Don’t corner me in secluded spot at parties. Don’t act like you actually care about me. Just be my friend and stop torturing me.”

I stood up and turned to go back inside, my eyes on the verge of spilling with unshed tears.

I was being spun around and vanilla flavored lips were pressed against mine. In that moment, I hated her for not respecting my wishes. But I also craved her. I was surrounded by sweet perfume and a scent that was distinctly Santana. My favorite smell.

“You’ve always been more,” she whispered, her lips brushing against mine with each syllable. “You’re special, Quinn.”

“If I were special, you wouldn’t be trying to have sex with someone else with me there.” Our foreheads were pressed together and she slipped her hands into mine, gripping tightly like she was afraid I would pull away any second.

“It’s Lima fucking Ohio, Quinn. I’m just as terrified as you are. This is supposed to be wrong. But you can’t deny that it feels right. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way.” She pulled away so that she could look into my eyes, her hands still holding tightly onto mine. “I’m scared by the intensity of what I feel for you.”

“I-I need to go,” I stuttered, pulling my hands from her soft ones.

“Can we still work on chem together tomorrow?” she asked, her eyes pleading. I couldn’t resist her; I probably never would be able to.

I gave her a quick nod and escaped through my front door, my heart thumping hard against my chest. The weight was still there; it had changed forms, but it was still there – a reminder of everything I wanted but couldn’t want.

I was very cranky when my alarm went off to get up for church the next morning. I had barely slept as I replayed my conversation with Santana in my head repeatedly. We weren’t gay; we were pretty young cheerleaders that should be dating handsome male athletes. Maybe we just hadn’t found the right ones yet. It WAS Lima and the selection offered slim pickings. 

In two and a half years I would be leaving this town, hopefully for good. There was an Ivy League college on my horizon filled with handsome, intelligent men. It was the plan; it had always been the plan since I was a little girl. Frannie had escaped Lima and she wasn’t nearly half as smart as me. Granted it was for Columbus, but anything had to be better than Lima.

As I tried to focus on my future, I couldn’t help but wonder what Santana’s future would be like. She was smart too. Her dad was a doctor. Her grades weren’t as impressive as mine, but they were still respectable and could get her out of this place. Did she even want to get out of Ohio? Why was she the only thing I could think about?

I knocked on her bedroom door still wearing my church clothes, my backpack slung over one shoulder. She yelled for me to come in and I did with hesitation. I didn’t want to be back in that room with Friday night so fresh in my memory.

Santana was stretched out on her bed, her laptop in front of her open to Facebook. She looked relaxed in her sweatpants and t-shirt with her hair thrown up in a messy bun with wisps falling down around her face. As always, she looked stunning.

She glanced up from her computer to look at me. A small smile cracked on her face before she turned serious again. Santana actually looked stiff and uncomfortable in my presence. She sat up on her bed, snapping her laptop shut.

“I was thinking we could work in the den today,” she said, eyes avoiding mine as she grabbed her own backpack. I didn’t argue; it would be a relief to be out of this room. I felt like I was suffocating in here.

Normally our homework sessions ended turning into giggle fits and gossiping with a little work done in between. Today we were all business. Within two hours, we had done all of our chemistry homework and quizzed each other on our vocabulary. She suggested that we get ahead on our algebra, but my brain wanted nothing to do with it. I groaned at the suggestion and she looked up at me for the first time all afternoon. Deep chocolate orbs met mine with tenderness and vulnerability that I was getting used to seeing there when they fell upon me.

She hastily threw her books into her bag before fidgeting and suggesting we watch a movie or something instead. I nodded my agreement, hoping she would calm down and make this a little less fucking awkward. We stayed in the den and sat at opposite ends of the couch to avoid accidental contact. Santana had even separated the popcorn into two separate bowls so we wouldn’t graze fingers as we reached for a handful.

The tension in the room was so thick that I could almost see it. I laughed aloud at the image of a rubber band being stretched to capacity in the space between us. It was on the verge of snapping. Santana turned towards me with a raised eyebrow, obviously wondering why I was giggling when the movie wasn’t even a little bit amusing right now. Why couldn’t we be watching an Adam Sandler movie so I wouldn’t look like a fucking lunatic right now?

I bit my tongue to contain the laughter that wanted to escape and Santana’s gaze lingered on me, making it so much worse. Finally it just burst out of me, taking with it some of the weight that had been sitting on me for two days. I could breathe a tiny bit easier.

Santana definitely thought I was insane. But then she laughed too. Then I didn’t even know what we were laughing about. It didn’t matter. I was sitting on the Lopez’s couch laughing with my best friend and that made the world fall a little bit back into place.

After I lost my mind, the afternoon moved into our more normal pattern. We stayed in the den, but we talked and laughed and tossed popcorn playfully at one another. And right before dinner, Santana offered to drive me home.

She pulled into my driveway and threw the car into park. I leaned over the center console and pulled my bag from the backseat. I could feel her eyes on me the entire time and I turned to face when I returned to my initial position, bag now perched on my lap.

I didn’t know what to say in farewell. Santana looked like she had something to say, but nothing was coming out. After a long awkward minute I said a quiet goodbye before hopping out of the car and heading for the front door. I was safely in my bedroom before my cell phone buzzed in my pocket with a new message.

Thanks for today. I don’t deserve to have a best friend like you.


	8. Chapter 8

I’m not sure why I’m still in glee club. We had only joined to keep an eye on Finn and for Sue’s grand scheme of ruining everybody’s lives. But here we are, sitting in the back of the choir room as Rachel Berry and Mercedes fight over solos for Sectionals in two weeks.

Mr. Schue is running late as usual. I already had to throw Santana into her seat after her threatening to go Lima Heights on Berry for the second time this week and it’s only Wednesday. She calmed down and is now painting her nails with Brittany beside me, both of them not caring at all about what was going on in the middle of the choir room. Artie was egging them on and Finn looked like he was unsure whether he should stick up for Rachel or stay out of it. Puck was throwing little paper balls at them from my other side. I’m amused by my teammates and if I’m really going to admit it, we’re started to grow into a little dysfunctional family.

Ten minutes into class, Mr. Schue finally shows up and immediately starts into one of his supposedly inspirational lessons. I pick up my book and zone him out. All talk revolves around Sectionals and I know that I’m going to be background scenery to Rachel Berry anyway. Santana and Brittany seemed to be on the same page as me. In fact, Berry seemed to be the only one giving Mr. Schue her full attention.

I got so lost in my book that Santana had to grab my arm to drag me to Cheerios when Mr. Schue dismissed us for the day. I trudged behind them to the locker room unenthusiastically.

Winter season with Coach Sylvester was miserable. It was a cold and rainy start to November. Football season finished, which gave the Cheerios full control of the field. Weather didn’t seem to matter to Coach as we ran suicides on the mud-covered field. Nationals were still six months away but she was training us like they were next week.

Every muscle ached when Coach finally called the final whistle. All I wanted was a scalding hot shower, but Coach called Santana, Brittany, and I into her office. I watched longingly as the rest of the team made their way to the locker room to wash off the layers of mud.

Sylvester rambled for the better part of an hour. I caught basically none of it because Santana was tapping rhythms of songs against my foot with hers. It was a ridiculous game we had started at the beginning of year when Sue had started pulling us into these meetings.

Finally we were dismissed and we took quick showers and changed before heading out to Santana’s car. I hopped in the backseat, leaving the front seat open for Brittany. Santana winked at me in the rearview mirror and I gave her a small, genuine smile before she cranked up the radio and sped out of the parking lot. We dropped Brittany off at motocross practice before heading to our neighborhood. She slowed down in front of my house and looked at me purposefully.

“Come over for dinner?” I asked her sheepishly.

“No offense, Q, but your parents freak me the fuck out.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling. Mama Lopez making burritos tonight?”

“It’s Wednesday. What do you think?” She smiled at me before pulling away from the curb and heading the rest of the way to her house.

The Lopez house felt more like home than my own. Mrs. Lopez had the radio on full blast and was swaying her hips to the beat as she stirred a pot of rice on the stove. In the distance I could hear the machine gun shots from her brother’s video game. Mr. Lopez was sitting at the kitchen table, looking exhausted from a long day at the hospital, but lit up when Santana walked into the room. It actually felt like a family.

“Half an hour until dinner, mi amor,” called Mrs. Lopez, so I followed Santana out of the kitchen. 

I assumed we were heading upstairs since Max was in the den. Instead she took my arm and pulled me down a hallway off of the den. She threw open a door and flipped a light switch, illuminating a carpeted staircase.

“After you, Queen Fabray,” said Santana with a grin, gesturing to the stairs. I walked down them slowly.

Santana followed right behind me and flipped a set of light switches at the bottom of the stairs. We were in the basement of her house. It was a huge finished room. There was a corner with shelves of toys that hadn’t been packed away from Santana’s childhood: barbies, dolls, and plastic tea sets. A big screen TV was mounted on one wall and two large, plush couches sat facing it. There was a pool table on the far side and a built in shiny bar with two stools.

“This is kind of my favorite place in the world. When Max was born, my dad started changing it from his man cave into my own playroom. Obviously, it was never quite finished.” She gestured to the bar and pool table with the decorations obviously done by her father.

“It’s really cool, San. All I ever had was a chaise lounge in bedroom to read on.”

I followed her over to the pool table. The felt surface was perfect, the wood edges gleaming with pride. It was obviously still well taken care of.

“You play?” asked Santana, grabbing a stick from the rack attached to the wall.

“Not really. Dad was much more into us taking ballet than teaching us how to shoot pool.”

“Well then I’ll have to teach you,” said Santana, chalking up the stick and handing it to me before setting up the balls.

I stood awkwardly with the stick in my hand as she moved swiftly around the large table until she was behind me.

“Line your stick up with the cue, resting it on your left like this.” She took my hand and set it on the table. I lifted the stick and she positioned it for me. “Pull it back.”

She was standing behind me, her hands over mine. My heart was racing at the closeness of her body touching mine. My head was swirling from inhaling her sweet perfume.

“Then just smack the hell out of it.” With a little nudge I slid my hand forward, causing the stick to propel forward until it knocked into the ball. The cue rolled and made a cracking noise when it hit the other balls. They hardly moved, but I didn’t notice. All I could feel was Santana’s hands still resting on mine.

“Not bad for a beginner,” she said with a wink. I felt instantly cold when she pulled herself away from and pulled her own stick from the wall and chalked it up. “Let a pro show you how it’s done.”

We went back and forth for the next half hour while waiting for dinner, Santana wiping the table with me. I could hardly take my eyes off of her as she surveyed the table, wandering around it slowly looking for her best angle for the next shot. I watched her muscles stretch as she pushed her stick out, lining it up with the cue ball. More than anything, I watched her ass as she bent over the table.

“Your shot, Q,” she said, pulling me out of the stupor. “And I know my ass is awesome, but you might actually get a ball in a pocket if you focus on my pool technique rather than my physique.” She had her confident smirk back and I flushed scarlet as I stumbled towards the table.

“Girls, dinner is ready!” Mrs. Lopez called down the stairs.

“We’ll have to play again sometime soon. I think I should get to stare at your ass some more considering how much time you spent doing it to me.” With that, Santana gave my ass a playful smack and took off for the stairs. I shook my head, willing the blush to leave my face as I walked slowly up to join the Lopez family for dinner.

Dinner at their house was always much more animated than at my own house on the rare occasions that the four of them were all home. Max was shoveling rice into his mouth like his life depended on it, causing Mrs. Lopez to scold him about his manners. Mr. Lopez asked all three of us how school and our extracurriculars were going and actually seemed like he cared about the answers. Mrs. Lopez always forced second helpings on us, telling us that Cheerios caused too much exertion and we needed to eat if we were going to stay healthy. There was laughter, real conversation, and love. It was everything that dinner at my house wasn’t.

I helped Santana and Max clear the table after dinner, the three of us laughing as we loaded dishes in the dishwasher and threw leftovers into Tupperware containers. Max was in seventh grade and was a slightly dorkier, male version of Santana. He was snarky and had a smoldering smile that matched his purposefully messy spiked hair. He asked where Brittany was and Santana immediately started teasing him about his crush on our blonde friend. I gave him a little smile as he tossed his dishtowel at Santana and stormed out of the kitchen, his ears red with embarrassment.

We settled in at the cleared table to work on our homework in comfortable silence. I could easily be down the street at my desk in my room since it’s not like either of us needed help, but there was something nice about sitting at the table with Santana. Mrs. Lopez would wander in and out, offering snacks and yelling at Santana for leaning back onto two legs of her chair.

It was after nine when Santana dropped me off in my driveway and I trudged up the front steps and unlocked the door. I expected to be greeted with a practically empty house as usual, but instead my mother was standing in the foyer with her hands on her hips, a dishtowel clenched tightly in one fist.

“Lucy Quinn Fabray, you better have an excellent reason for showing up after dark without having called first!” She looked furious, but her voice was quiet, I’m sure to avoid disturbing my dad.

“I’m sorry I forgot to call after practice. I was just at Santana’s.”

“I think that girl is a bad influence on you. You’re there all the time and I heard through the PTA this week that you were at a party with her and that Brittany girl from Carole Hudson. Since when do you go to parties without permission, Quinnie?”

“It was just a Cheerio thing with the football team, it wasn’t a big deal, Mom. Santana isn’t making me do anything. My grades are still perfect because she’s in all of my classes and we study together every day!”

“I’m worried about you, Quinn. You used to be such a good, quiet girl.”

“Yeah, and I was a fat loser! I’m head Cheerio now! I’m the most popular girl in the tenth grade, if not the entire school! I thought I was finally fitting into what you and Dad always wanted me to be: Frannie 2.0!”

I pushed past her and ran up the stairs, knowing I would be in huge trouble for it later. I never yelled at my mom before. Lucy was always well behaved. Frannie and her would go at it once in a while when Frannie was in high school, usually over a boyfriend or her grades. But it had never been me. I got straight A’s and I stayed out of trouble. Even of the few boys I had dated, they were very well received at the Fabray household.

What had made me so angry? My mom knew my grades were still good and that most of my time was spent at practice or glee so I couldn’t really be getting into much trouble. No, it was that Finn had told his mom about me being at a party with Santana and Brittany. He had to have told her about the Halloween party. Did that mean my mother knew about me making out with my friends in front of the entire football team before unceremoniously dragging them home to snuggle in Santana’s bed?

My mom didn’t bother me for the rest of the night. My homework was finished already, so I took a shower and checked my Facebook before turning in. It was a crappy night of sleep. I tossed for most of it, freaked about my mom knowing. But then why didn’t she yell at me for sinning? She didn’t even bring up that I had been drinking heavily at that party. Did Finn just tell his mom that he saw me because our breakup was still new and he was just pissed at having to be in the same room as me?

Thursday morning was like every other. I got up and pulled on a Cheerio uniform. My blonde hair got yanked back in a tight ponytail and I curled it into perfection. I checked my backpack to make sure my homework was all accounted for and I headed down to breakfast.

It seemed like it was going to be just like every other school day. But I padded down the stairs and was greeted with the scent of freshly made pancakes. My mom was standing in the kitchen, her apron on and pearls around her neck.

“I made breakfast, Quinnie,” she said cheerfully.

I slid into my normal stool at the bar, having no idea what was going on.

“Uh, thanks,” I mumbled as she put a plate with two pancakes down in front of me before adding the bottle of maple syrup and a tall glass of orange juice. Usually I just grabbed a mug of coffee and a granola bar on my way out the door.

“Quinn, I know I shouldn’t have come down so hard on you last night. I know you’re a good girl. That Santana Lopez just has quite the reputation around town and I don’t want you to fall from your good graces under her influence.”

“Santana doesn’t control me and she’s not that bad. She just tends to speak her mind.”

I was defending Santana to my mother. She was the girl that essentially robbed me of my innocence when I entered high school as Quinn, but for some reason it felt necessary.

“Just be careful, sweetie. You don’t want it getting back to your father that you’re gallivanting at parties with a girl that has a spotty reputation.”

A horn honked impatiently from the driveway.

“That’s my ride; I need to go.” I left my plate of pancakes virtually untouched. I took a quick swig of my orange juice before picking up my backpack and walking soundlessly to the door.

Santana was sitting in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming playfully on the steering wheel. She looked relaxed and happy despite my tardiness; I was almost always bounding down the front steps as she pulled up. I swung the door open and grinned at her.

“How’d you sleep, princess?” she asked teasingly as I fixed my makeup using the mirror on the sun visor.

“Pretty crappy. My mom cornered me when I got home last night about how I spend too much time with bad girl Santana Lopez from Lima Heights.”

“That’s offensive. My family is from Lima Heights Adjacent.”

“Aren’t you upset that my mom doesn’t really approve of me hanging out with you?” I asked, a little confused at her lack of typical Santana rage right now.

“Quinn, most parents don’t like me. Your parents have the hugest stick up their ass of all the parents I’ve ever met. I wasn’t really expecting them to ever be excited that their perfect blonde cheerleader daughter was hanging out with the troublemaking Latina girl.”

We pulled into our normal parking spot next to the football field and Santana made it obvious that we were done discussing what had happened with my mom last night. I sighed and followed her into school.

~! ~!~!~

I would say that Sectionals crept up on me, but that would be impossible due to Berry’s constant reminders. But the day definitely came quickly. We were standing behind the curtains as the band got ready for our performance. Rachel and Finn were standing close to one another, his fingers resting lightly on her forearm as they whispered. Most of my teammates seemed jittery, the adrenaline starting to pump furiously.

Our set list had been leaked. It shouldn’t have surprised me considering how well I had gotten to know Coach Sylvester over the past two years, but I just took a backseat as people freaked out in the green room an hour before our performance. Rachel would sing a solo of course and it was destined to be perfect despite lack of planning. Mr. Schuster had managed to get himself banned from the competition, so he used his puppet Finn to deliver us our other song at the last minute.

It was a song we hardly knew and choreography that had been learned in half an hour. It was destined to be a train wreck. But we all moved to get in position when we were directed to. Finn left Rachel’s side to go to his own mark.

Her strong voice floated through the thick curtains and I could feel the notes hitting me square in the chest. I couldn’t see her from my position, but there was no doubt of the emotion and talent Rachel Berry brought to the stage.

She finished her solo to a rupture of applause and introduced the rest of us. The curtains came up and we started in on the group number led by Finn and Rachel. I focused on my feet keeping up with the choreography and contributed my minimum background vocals.

We were the last to go on, so we just waited a short while as the judges conversed behind closed doors. It wasn’t long before we were standing at center stage in a close-knit group next to the other two groups. Artie squeezed my left hand and Brittany’s fingers were interlocked tightly in my right hand.

When we were announced as first place winners, I jumped and celebrated with my teammates. Most of them were the epitome of loserdom, but for some reason in the moment, I felt like I belonged amongst them.

It was a Saturday night and we spent it having a celebration at Puck’s. There wasn’t a room full of jocks and the rest of the Cheerios like usual. Only the dozen of us, basking in the glow of our win and talking about what the future held for us.

Just because we were surrounded by the glee dorks didn’t mean Puck planned on treating it any differently than his other parties. There was a fridge full of beer and wine coolers. The music was turned up loud, although Rachel and Kurt kept singing over it. He set up the beer pong table and was playing with Matt, Mike, and Finn. I sat on the couch sipping on my wine cooler that Puck had dropped into my lap. Santana was on the couch chugging her own beer and bitching about Berry feeling the compulsive need to put on a show every time there was music on. Right now she was singing some Beyoncé number while Brittany and Tina danced around her. I laughed as Santana cursed under her breath, her eyes not leaving Brittany’s gyrating hips.

I actually had more fun with the glee kids than I did at most of the big parties. There was no pressure to act cool and be popular. It was relaxing. Most of them were complete dorks and I was pretty sure that half of the party had never been around alcohol before tonight. Berry adamantly refused to imbibe, but everybody else let loose.

I don’t remember leaving the party. But I woke up on Sunday morning in Brittany’s bed. Santana was in the middle and I was snuggled into her. She had her arm under me, pulling me close as she slept. Brittany’s spot was already empty. She was a ray of sunshine early in the morning no matter how much she drank the night before. My guess was that there would be a full breakfast spread by the time Santana and I dragged ourselves out of bed.

Santana stirred a couple of minutes after I did. I realized I had been lying in her arms while awake and felt awkward as she came to her senses so I squeezed my eyes shut again.

“Morning, Q,” she said, her voice raspy.

“Morning,” I grumbled, trying to pretend that I hadn’t just been lying cuddled into her without the affects of a lot of wine coolers.

She didn’t pull her arm out from around me. Instead she shifted lightly and her grip tightened a little bit. I tried to not read into it, figuring it was just more comfortable for her.

“How’d we get back here last night?” I asked, trying to piece together my night. I remember spending most of it on Puck’s couch with him consistently refreshing my drink. Everything else felt very fuzzy.

“Britt’s brother picked us up. You were shitfaced last night,” she added with a giggle.

“Yeah, my head is reminding me of that this morning.”

Santana groaned her agreement and nuzzled her face into my hair.

“You almost repeated your mistake with Puck last night,” she said softly, tightening her grip on me.

I tore free jumping up onto my knees so that I wasn’t touching her. I could feel the panic rising through me instantly and I’m sure it was etched onto my face.

“Relax, nothing serious happened. I intercepted you before he had a chance to take you to his bedroom.”

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, but no words came out. My heart was racing and my head was spinning. Why didn’t I remember anything? Why the fuck had I gotten so drunk that I couldn’t remember even talking to Puck?

“Quinn, you gotta calm down. You’re kind of freaking me out.” 

Santana reached up and grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me down into her again. I jerked it away as though her touch had burned me. Instantly, I felt horrible about it when I saw the flash of hurt on her face. After all, she had saved me from making a huge mistake last night and I was paying her back by acting like I didn’t want to be near her.

She sat up, her eyes filled with concern. I knew she wasn’t going to reach out and touch me again for fear of me shutting down. Instead, I leaned into her as my tears took over. She wrapped her petite arms around me tightly, cooing as I sobbed into her shoulder.

Brittany came in the room at some point and I felt her long fingers thread through my hair. I let my two best friends try to put me back together.

When my sobs subsided, Brittany insisted that I call my mom and tell her I’m skipping church. I knew it was probably a bad idea considered she still wasn’t keen on the idea of me spending so much time with Santana, but I agreed. It was better than church on a hangover with tear streaks down my face.

She led me downstairs where a pile of waffles and bacon were waiting for me. I slumped into a chair, scowling at the Pierces’ sunny yellow kitchen walls that were making my head hurt. I giggled when I saw the same expression on Santana’s face as she sat down next to me. Brittany dropped a mug of coffee in front of each of us before sitting down across from me.

We ate in near silence. My head was pounding too much between my hangover and the crying fit to form sentences to partake in meaningless small talk. Brittany hummed happily to herself as she chewed her waffle and Santana just looked cranky.

I felt better having gotten some caffeine, aspirin, and food into my system. Now all I wanted to do was crawl into my own bed and sleep away this terrible Sunday. But of course, life hated me right now because I had to go to Santana’s to work on our lab report that was due tomorrow. Sunday afternoons were always our work day and there was no way I could get out of a partner assignment due to hangover and embarrassment, especially when she knew exactly why.

Brittany’s brother dropped Santana and I off at Puck’s to pick up her car. The ride back was as silent as breakfast had been with only the soft playing radio as a distraction. She pulled into my driveway, stating clearly that we were meeting at one. That gave me two hours to shower and get my life together. I gave her a nod acknowledging the plan before I got out of the car without so much as a goodbye or thank you.

My parents were thankfully still at church. I ran upstairs and took a long, hot shower running last night over and over in my mind. Puck had been giving me all of my drinks and I knew there were a lot of them. I remember being on the couch, eying Santana as she had eye sex with Brittany, who had been dancing like a stripper in front of us. I vaguely remember a diva off between a tipsy Kurt who was sipping on a pink wine cooler and a very sober and very irritating Rachel Berry. Later on there was a fuzzy image of Finn with his tongue down Berry’s throat and her pulling away and lecturing him about his beer breath. Everything else was very blank.

I still had an hour when I got out of the shower and dressed. My body was a little more relaxed and my hangover was subsiding slightly, but my brain was working overtime trying to piece together the night. I didn’t bother putting on makeup and my hair was pulled up into a messy bun. Facebook seemed like a bad option, as there were sure to be pictures of last night’s disaster posted knowing Mercedes and Kurt.

Instead, I opened my school bag and pulled out my history homework. The more work I got done before I left, the less time I would feel compelled to spend at Santana’s this afternoon. 

At a quarter to one, I threw my books back into my backpack and pulled on my jacket to walk to Santana’s. My mom had called and said that they were going to have lunch with some friends from their church group. I told her really quickly that I had to work on a group project with Santana and I’d be home when we were done. 

The walk to Santana’s felt way too short. I had no idea which version of Santana I would be walking into. This morning had been so weird and unlike her. I was still waiting for the explosion. She had been way too calm when she told me this morning. It was inevitable that at some point she would yell and lecture me about whatever happened last night. I also was going to have to suck up my pride and ask her what had gone on because I still couldn’t remember for the life of me.

Max answered the door when I knocked. He gave me a big grin and said Santana was in the living room. She had her books tossed carelessly all over the coffee table and the other cushion on the couch. I could see her headphones in her ears and she was bobbing slightly with her music. Her glasses were perched on the bridge of her nose as she read the textbook that was sitting in her lap.

“Hey,” I said, pulling the headphone from her left ear and shifting her books so I could sit on the couch too. She jumped slightly in surprise and gave me a smile before seeming to remember that she was upset with me and turning her expression to indifference.

“Lemme grab my laptop so we can type our lab report.” She hopped up and took off up the stairs. I pulled my chemistry folder from my bag and extracted my lab. My neat handwriting clashed with Santana’s messy scrawls in the margins. Santana had a bad habit of just scribbling data wherever she felt like it rather than putting it in the table.

Santana reappeared as I was trying to decipher the codes she had written in the margins. She booted up the computer on her lap and reached over to grab the lab from me. It was our typical routine. I would huff over her lack of caring about organization for our assignments and she would translate it for me, moving the data into the correct spots so that I would stop complaining about it.

She handed me the laptop as she picked up her pencil to fix the data table and I opened up a new Word document. It was a comfortable routine working with Santana. I wrote as she threw out ideas and double-checked the data. The lab report was finished in record time and Santana tossed her pencil onto the coffee table in triumph and picked up her cell phone.

I watched as her fingers tapped against the screen of her iPhone, her brow furrowed in more concentration than she had for our assignment. My own phone was buried in a pocket of my backpack and Santana was really the only person that texted me now that Finn and I had broken up. I opted for doodling on the cover of my folder instead, trying to figure out the best excuse for leaving now that our report was finished.

“Did you do your history outline yet?” Santana asked me, tossing her phone into her lap and reaching for her history textbook that was on the floor at her feet.

“Yeah.” I pulled out my history stuff and handed my outline to her. Santana never asked to copy my work, but she also never complained when I gave it to her. “I need to get going though, my mom wants me home early tonight.”

I hated lying to Santana. My mom probably didn’t even realize I wasn’t upstairs in my bedroom, but the last thing I wanted was to sit around waiting for Santana to finish copying my homework so that she can lecture me about whatever happened with Puck.

Santana twirled her pen and looked up from her copying. Her face was serious and it felt like she was scrutinizing me.

“First of all, I call bullshit. Secondly, you’re not leaving until we talk about what happened last night.” I sighed. I should have known that I couldn’t get out of here that easily.

“Can we at least go to your room?” I hissed through my teeth. She tossed her books onto the coffee table and grabbed my arm, dragging me down into the basement instead of up the stairs. It was probably a better decision for us. Bad things seemed to happen when we were alone in the presence of a bed.

She made a beeline for one of the big couches and beckoned me to come sit with her. I moved cautiously, wanting to make sure I maintained plenty of personal space. She shrugged when I settled down on the other couch and I couldn’t read the expression on her face.

“What happened with you, Q?” she asked. Santana wasn’t one to ease into the difficult questions.

“I don’t know,” I said in a quiet whisper. “I wasn’t even in a bad mood last night.”

“So you got bored and almost ended up underneath a sweaty Puck again?” Her tone was a little more accusatory.

“I don’t know, Santana! God, people are allowed to make mistakes!” I crossed my arms across my chest, trying to keep myself from falling apart.

“You made a mistake when you slept with him the first time! Remember sitting in my bathroom after peeing on a stick?” I bit my lip and willed the tears to not leak from my eyes. 

“San…”

“Quinn, I just don’t want to see you like that again. Do you not get how worried I was about you that day when you showed up?”

I bit harder on my lip. I hadn’t even thought about the repercussions for my friends for my actions. Santana had been there to pick up my pieces for the last two years. I could feel her eyes burning a hole in the side of my head. Slowly, I turned to face her. The hurt that I found there was alarming. Santana was being vulnerable and actually opening up.

“I’m sorry, S. I didn’t consider what that must’ve done to you.”

“I should be surprised, but I’m not. You’re always absorbed in yourself.”

“I said I’m sorry. What do you want from me?” I tried to keep the anger out of my voice because I really did want to try to fix this with Santana.

“I want you to act like you actually care about me!” She was standing now, a distinctive pink flush over her cheeks.

“Like when you acted like you cared about me by hooking up with Britt while I tried to sleep?”

Santana’s hard glare faltered at my comment.

“How did we end up here? We were finally doing well,” she was mumbling, but I could make out what she was saying under her breath.

“Can we just try to start over? Clean slates?”

Santana hesitated before giving me a tiny nod. I wanted to hug her but I was afraid to close the distance.

“Wanna finish our game?” Santana asked, nodding towards the pool table. 

The balls were still scattered over the felt surface. I said okay and followed her over. Santana pulled two sticks from the rack on the wall and handed one to me. She picked up the little cube of blue chalk and rubbed it on the end of her stick before walking around the table, surveying the layout of the remaining balls. Her hips were swaying deliciously as she moved, dragging one hand along the shiny wooden edge of the table.

She leaned over the table and lined her stick up with the cue ball, her face screwed up in adorable concentration. I was standing on the opposite side of the table and her scoop neck sweater was low cut enough to give me an excellent view of her cleavage.  
The cue made a loud crack as it hit another ball and it bounced off the edge of the middle pocket before ricocheting in the other direction.

“Damn!” She said, slamming a frustrated palm on the table before backing away. I quickly pulled my eyes up from her chest and looked at the balls on the table. 

I gripped my stick and walked slowly to the side of the table to line up my shot. Santana was still fired up about her missed shot and was grumbling under her breath. I felt nervous under her gaze and I scratched, sinking the cue ball into the right corner pocket.

That lit her up with a little glee. She extracted the cue ball and placed it on the table carefully, her face bent down even with the table to survey her shot. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her; Santana with a pool stick had to be one of the sexiest things I had seen in my short almost-sixteen years on this planet.

She nailed the shot and gave a little victory whoop before continuing to sweep the table, knocking in two more balls before missing a shot. She walked away from the table with a confident grin and leaned up against the wall as I took my place at the table. 

My hands were clammy from watching her bend and twist over the surface of the pool table for the past ten minutes. I wiped them quickly on the thighs of my jeans, but it didn’t help. I knocked the cue ball with my stick and scratched yet again.

“God, you’re awful at this game,” Santana said with a giggle, pushing off the wall and moving over to me. She stopped directly behind me and I could feel her breath on my neck as she leaned forward. “Let me help you.”

I shivered at the feel of her hot words against the shell of my ear, but didn’t protest when she moved her hands on top of mine and forced me to lean over the table with her body pressed flush against my back.

“You’re way too stiff. Loosen up, Fabray.” She wiggled her body and tried to make mine do the same. I nearly groaned at the tantalizing friction of her body rubbing against me.

She pulled my arm back and let me adjust to steady the stick on my outstretched hand that was still covered with hers. We stayed frozen there for a moment.

“Steady, but with some force,” she said quietly in my ear. I repressed a shudder. With a deep, cleansing breath, I relaxed my shoulders and pushed the stick towards the cue ball. It made strong contact and hit the target ball, but the ball bounced off the side right next to the pocket.

Santana was still up against me and I didn’t know if I should shake her off or what. We were leaning over the table at an awkward angle with my stick poking out under our arms. I squirmed and pulled away and she spun me to face her. There was a glint in her eye of apprehension and vulnerability. But then warm lips descended on mine and I snapped my eyes shut as I lost myself in the feeling of her mouth sliding against mine.

She kissed me until it became difficult to breathe. Our chests were heaving and my lungs were trying to suck in as much oxygen as possible. Santana pulled her lips away, but rested her forehead against mine as we worked to catch our breaths.

“How’s that for a clean slate?” she asked breathlessly, a smile playing on her lips.


	9. Chapter 9

Things settle in my life as Thanksgiving break arrives. My mom hasn’t brought up me spending time with Santana again. Boys were still leaving me alone at school for the most part with the exception of Puck, who never seems to understand that no was an actual answer. More than anything, Santana and I haven’t squabbled once since the kiss against the pool table in her basement.

The break for Thanksgiving was exactly what I need. Sylvester has been riding us hard and I was beginning to dread her morning practices on the track, the grass covered in frost on the football field as we ran in leg-numbing circles. Rachel had us preparing as though Regionals were tomorrow and the choreography seemed to get more intricate with each passing session. The schoolwork was mounting as midterms rapidly approached, taking place in the middle of January.

We were off the day before Thanksgiving and I spent the day navigating the supermarket with my mom’s neatly written shopping list. Brittany was riding on the cart like a kid on a sugar high as I read labels and tried to toss the items in the gliding cart. My mom was still at work when we returned to my house and Brittany helped me carry in the armfuls of bags. She hummed Christmas carols and sucked chocolate milk up through her straw and I put away the groceries in the expansive kitchen.

“Do you give Santana sweet lady kisses?” Brittany asked in her typical unreadable tone and I was immediately caught off-guard. I was thankful that I was half submerged into the fridge as I reorganized it to make room for the huge turkey. Santana and Brittany told each other practically everything. Had Santana really not told Brittany that we hooked up on occasion? Was I not supposed to tell her if Santana hadn’t?

“Um, we have a couple of times I guess.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was definitely me downplaying the situation. It was more than a couple of times. I had actually lost count now of how many rounds of cat and mouse Santana and I have played thus far.

“She gives great lady kisses, but I just want her to talk about feelings because I’m really confused.”

“Uh, I don’t know how to help Santana talk about her feelings, Britt. Does she know you want to talk about feelings?”

Brittany cocked her head to the side and took another large slurp of chocolate milk. She seemed deep in contemplation.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I asked and was eternally grateful at how easy it was to change the topic with Britt. My own thoughts were racing and I couldn’t handle trying to figure out hers as well, especially when they involved the same person.

Brittany left to go to Santana’s shortly after I finished with the groceries. My mom was due home from work any moment and I had to check in before I could slip away to Santana’s. I settled at the kitchen counter with my latest book, getting lost in the words and not even hearing my mom enter fifteen minutes later.

Seeing that I had followed her instructions for all of my chores, I was granted permission to go to Santana’s as long as I came home by midnight since tomorrow was a holiday. I ran upstairs to grab my Cheerios jacket and cell phone before walking the few blocks, my breath appearing in little puffs of smoke in front of my face. 

It was starting to get dark despite the early hour, but the walk was peaceful and I was greeted by the warmth of the Lopez kitchen. Mrs. Lopez shooed me upstairs as she worked on dinner. Max was in the living room with a friend of his from school and they were fawning over what looked like a comic book lying in between them. I smiled at their lingering innocence before taking off up the stairs and knocking on Santana’s bedroom door, knowing better than to enter unannounced.

Santana called for me to enter and I did slowly, pushing the door until I could slip inside. Brittany was lying on Santana’s bed watching as the Latina bent forward on the floor, stretching her arms past her extended legs. The muscles rippled in her toned shoulders under her tank top as she did so.

“Hey, Q,” she said as she relaxed her arms and moved to sit cross-legged on the carpet. I noticed that Brittany’s eyes were still focused on Santana’s body and a little bout of jealousy ran through me.

I flopped down on the floor next to her and leaned up against the bed. She moved back to lean next to me, her arm brushing up against mine and causing goose bumps to erupt on my skin. I was acutely aware of Brittany’s eyes on us, my cheeks flushing as I thought about the conversation she started at my house earlier in the day.

“So what are we doing tonight?” I asked, pulling my phone from my pocket and scrolling through my apps mindlessly to try and avoid the awkwardness that only I seemed to be feeling in the room.

Santana just shrugged and picked at the polish on her toenails. Brittany bounced slightly on the bed and rearranged so that her head was hanging off the bed upside-down between Santana and I.

“Let’s have a movie night!” she said happily, her blonde hair brushing against the floor and tickling my arm. I moved over so I was no longer grazing against Santana.

“I’m kind of tired, B,” said Santana, her voice emotionless and her eyes still fixated on her chipped nail polish.

“We’ll drink lots of soda so you can wake up! What do you say, Quinn?” She turned to look at me while still upside-down. I just shrugged. The idea of being around Santana and Brittany simultaneously knowing that Brittany seemed to care about Santana despite Santana’s typical rule that sex is better without feelings.

“I have to be home early. My mom needs help with things for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow.” It wasn’t completely a lie, but I had enough time for dinner and a couple of movies before my mom expected me home.

Brittany’s phone beeped and she leapt towards Santana’s nightstand to grab it. She slid the bar to unlock it and read the message.

“Puck is having some people over,” she said and I turned to look at her. Santana didn’t even bother looking up.

“I can’t tonight, Britt,” I said, feigning remorse. I really didn’t feel like being around a bunch of drunken idiots tonight.

“I don’t want to. You can go though, B. I bet that kid you made out with last weekend will be there and Puck always has plenty of booze.” Santana was flat out encouraging Brittany to go by herself. The two of them were practically inseparable and I don’t think Santana had ever let Britt drink without her being around to keep an eye on the blonde.

“You sure you guys don’t want to do something tonight?” Brittany asked again, still holding her cell phone to respond to Puck.

I nodded and Santana followed suit. Brittany frowned but then started tapping away at her screen. It beeped again almost immediately.

“Puck’s gonna swing by and pick me up in five minutes. Are we on for Friday?” Santana nodded as Brittany climbed off of the bed and slipped into her shoes. She picked up her Cheerio jacket from where she had left it on the floor and pulled it on, digging her hands into the pockets.

“Bye, Britt,” I said, giving her a small smile. She gave a little wave and walked out of the room. I heard her footsteps on the stairs and her saying goodbye to Mrs. Lopez before the door opened and closed.

Santana’s lips were on mine before I had time to react. I pulled away in shock, but she grabbed the back of my head and connected our lips again. We kissed for a moment before I pulled away again.

“I’ve been waiting all day to do that,” she said, moving to kiss me again. I turned my face so her mouth made contact with my cheek. “What’s wrong, Q?” she asked, concern etched on her face as she moved back.

“Did you convince Britt to leave just so we can make out?” I asked, my voice timid.

Santana gave me an impish grin.

“San, that’s so wrong. She’s your best friend.”

“One night of being separated from my best friend won’t kill us,” she said, putting her hand on top of mine and rubbing it.

“I think she has feelings for you,” I blurted out before I could filter my thoughts properly. Santana’s face went from stunned to indiscernible.

“She knows that I don’t do feelings,” Santana responded, trying to look indifferent.

“With her or with everybody?” I said coldly, pulling my hand from beneath hers. Her eyes met mine and I didn’t drop my glare.

“I told you on your porch that you are different, Quinn, and I meant it. Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because you’re still the same Santana! You’re sweet and sexy and amazing when we’re alone, but in public you make out with anybody that comes within a ten-foot radius of you. We never talk about anything. I’m not Brittany, you can’t convince me that we don’t need to talk about our feelings!” I was angry now. I pulled myself up from the floor and started pacing around her bedroom.

Santana rose from her spot on the floor and grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to stop my frantic pacing. She used one hand to tilt my chin up until I was forced to look into her eyes.

“I like you, Quinn. But I have no fucking idea how to deal with that. What is it that you want from me?” She looked scared and vulnerable. Unlike on my porch, I didn’t resist the urge to pull her into a hug.

“I don’t know what I want, San. But this isn’t fair to Britt. She asked me this afternoon if I’ve had lady kisses with you and she wanted to talk to you about feelings and I downplayed our relationship because it’s not my place to tell her. You’re her best friend and you’re messing with her head.”

“Do you want me to end things with Britt?” Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears and I reached up to push a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“I think you owe it to your friendship to at least tell her about our situation. But we’re not dating, so I can’t tell you that you need to end your other conquests.”

“We’re not dating, but you’re jealous.” It was a statement, not a question. I knew my eyes were telling her that she was right. “Do you want to be dating?”

“San, we’re in Lima fucking Ohio, remember?” My heart soared at her question, but I squashed it back into its little box before I could give myself any real hope.

“Obviously. I wasn’t saying we should walk into school on Monday and make out in front of the whole school. But if it wasn’t public knowledge, would you want to be in a relationship?”

“Are you seriously asking me if I want to be a secret relationship with you?” I scoffed and pulled away to start pacing again.

“Okay, so I’m being ridiculous. Our current situation isn’t working for you, but you don’t want me to change it either. I have no clue what you’re asking of me, Fabray.”

“Neither do I,” I admitted, pacing more frantically.

“I’m going to stop messing around with Britt. Is that a good starting point until we can figure shit out?” I could her the pleading tone in her voice and it made me smile. Santana Lopez was actually trying to make this fucked up situation work.

“Yeah, it’s a good starting point,” I said, turning to face her, my smile still lighting up my face. “And it also allows you to cash in on that make-out session,” I said seductively, running my tongue over my bottom lip. Santana’s eyes darkened dramatically.

“Girls! Dinner is ready!” Mrs. Lopez’s voice echoed up the stairs. Santana groaned loudly and gave me a peck before taking my hand and dragging me out of her bedroom.

As soon as I took my last bite, Santana whisked my plate away and tossed it in the sink with hers before dragging me back up to her bedroom. I giggled as she slammed the door and spun to face me.

“Anxious much?” I said playfully, running my fingertips down her forearm. She gave a little shiver and rolled her head back.

“You have no idea,” she mumbled, wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling me closer. Our noses brushed and she smiled at me.

“Make out session only, Lopez,” I warned, moving even closer so I could feel her breath mixing with my own.

“Whatever you say, princess.” She pushed forward, connecting our lips. 

“San, Mom needs your help downstairs!” Max was standing right outside of Santana’s bedroom door. I sprung back from her and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, eyes darting away from her.

“Fuck,” Santana grumbled angrily, straightening her t-shirt. “Tell her I’ll be right down!”

The brunette moved towards me again, taking the few steps and taking my hand. I blushed at the simple gesture. Her fingers brushed lightly against the back of my hand and she smiled at me despite the frustration that was obvious in her dark eyes.

“I should get home anyway, my mom didn’t want me out late tonight,” I said, breaking the intensity of our glance, choosing to look at her caramel hand against my pale one.

“You sure you can’t stay? I’m sure whatever my mom needs won’t take long.” She was kind of pleading and it was unbelievably adorable, but I knew the best thing would be for me to leave. It had been a long day already and my guilt over Brittany was eating away at me.

“I’m sure. I’ll see you Friday morning for shopping.” I wasn’t surprised when she leaned in and gave me a soft kiss and it sent a surge of warmth through me.

She held onto my hand as we left the room and didn’t release it until we were at the top of the stairs. With a tiny smile, she took off down the stairs with me in her wake. Her mom was wearing gloves and was scrubbing the kitchen counter when I appeared in the doorway and Santana was huffing as she walked towards me.

“I’m going to walk,” I said quietly and I saw her face drop slightly. I pulled on my jacket and tucked my hands into the pockets with a shrug. 

She didn’t argue with me, but followed me out onto the front step, closing the door behind her before her mom could protest.

“Any chance you can get out after dinner tomorrow?” she asked quietly.

“Probably not. My parents are pretty strict about my presence on holidays and we’re having family over.”

“Can I stop by and say hi at least?”

“Text me tomorrow,” I said simply, knowing it was going to take a lot to have my mom agree to let me have a friend over after Thanksgiving dinner. She reluctantly agreed and brushed her fingers over my cheek before turning and heading back into the house.

I walked home slowly, watching my breath appear in the chilly November air as I exhaled. I was going to be home much earlier than my curfew, which wasn’t a common occurrence lately. I could’ve spent the next three hours rolling around with Santana in her bed, but instead I was trudging through the front door of my cold and practically silent house.

My mom was scrubbing down the countertops in the kitchen and I could hear my dad’s music coming from the stereo in the living room. I craned my neck to see him sitting in his recliner, eyes closed and a glass of scotch in one hand. With a quick hello, I poured myself a glass of diet soda and disappeared up the stairs and into my bedroom.

I dropped my jacket and shoes carelessly just inside the door before pulling my battered copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland off of a shelf and lounging back onto my pillows.

The inside cover had handwriting in it in loopy cursive and I ran my fingers over the inscription.

My dearest Lucy,

May you always have the greatest of adventures.

Love always, Grandpa Joe

I smiled at the simple message. I hadn’t seen Grandpa Joe since last Christmas. He was Mom’s father and lived in a nursing home about an hour away. He was the only family member that I really enjoyed being around at the holidays.

Holidays as a Fabray meant overly starched party dresses and shoes I wasn’t allowed to run in because my mom would scold me if they got scuffed. When we were really young, Frannie and I always had matching dresses and giant bows in our hair. When Frannie hit middle school and I started to really gain the weight, my mom stopped dressing us like twins.

Frannie was always the pride and joy at these family gatherings. I was shy and awkward from a young age while Frannie basked in the attention of my father and everybody else. By the time she was in high school, it was almost like I didn’t exist.

Grandpa Joe was the only person who seemed to love me more than he loved Frannie. As my dad would spend the meal bragging about Frannie’s latest accomplishments to the guests, Grandpa would slip Hershey’s kisses into my lap with a wink.

Grandma had passed away when I was five and my paternal grandparents were practically non-existent, so Grandpa Joe was all I really had. Most of the books in my bookcase had been presents from Grandpa, each with their own inscription in his loopy handwriting. Sometimes, he picked up books for me at used bookstores and would add his own message under the previous owner’s. These were always my favorite. The words were written with love and hopes of happiness for the reader. They were personal, as though the receiver of the book would only ever see them, yet they had fallen into my hands.

I turned the pages of the book in my hands, reliving the journey of Alice down the rabbit hole. I had read the book so many times that my eyes flew over the pages without much concentration. The next time I looked up, I was nearly halfway through the book and it was just after midnight.

With a yawn, I dog-eared the worn page and dropped the book onto my nightstand before plugging in my cell phone and switching off the light. I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

The sun wasn’t even peeking through my curtains when my mom’s shrill voice filled my eyes.

“Lucy Quinn Fabray, you get out of that bed this instant! You know we have so much to do before the guests arrive!”

I groaned into my down pillow and pulled the comforter over my ears, trying to drown out the high-pitched yelling coming from my doorway.

“Now, Quinn!”

With a sigh, I pushed back the covers and started to climb out of the bed. She disappeared around the corner as soon as she saw me moving and I figured it was in my best interest to not collapse back into the warmth of my bed. I washed up and threw on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before heading downstairs to breakfast.

My dad was sitting at the table with a plate of eggs and toast in front of him and his nose buried in the business section of the newspaper. Mom was gliding around the kitchen, already starting on Thanksgiving dinner. I pulled a box of Special K out of the cabinet and filled a bowl before covering it in skim milk. I dropped into a stool at the island instead of joining my dad and crunched on my cereal as I watched the whirlwind that was my mother.

As soon as my bowl was empty, she picked it up and deposited it in the sink before handing me a list of chores and turning back to her own work. Dad was still sitting at the table, now reading the sports section instead.

I got through my list as quickly as possible and retired to my room with mom’s permission. The house smelled like disinfectant covered up with floral scented wall plug-ins. Mom was busy in the kitchen and I could hear Dad belittling somebody on the phone in his office.

I took a long, hot shower and fixed my hair before turning my attention to the dresses hanging in my walk-in closet. Since starting high school, my mom had stopped picking out my holiday outfits. I hadn’t picked out anything special for the occasion and pawed through my existing wardrobe.

Santana was always the best at picking out my outfits. I walked back into my bedroom and picked up my cell phone before returning to my closet, standing in the middle of the closet in my bra and panties.

I have no idea what to wear to an awkward and stuffy dinner with my family.

As usual, Santana’s response came immediately. Her cell phone was permanently attached to her.

Green sleeveless dress with one of your super conservative cardigans. If you really want to pull off your perfect little girl look, throw in some pigtails.

You only want me in pigtails so you have something to grab onto later ;)

My hand actually trembled as I pressed send. Flirting was not my specialty, especially through text messages.

Who knew Quinn Fabray could be such a flirt? Does that mean I get to see you later?

Only if you’re lucky

I’ll go rub a rabbit’s foot or some shit.

With a giggle, I pulled the green dress from the closet and yanked it over my head. I flattened the pleats before flipping through my cardigans until I found a white one and pulled it on over my dress.

I sat at my vanity and fixed my hair, pushing back the bleached blonde waves with a white headband and touching up my makeup. Mom would be hollering for me to be downstairs any minute, but I didn’t rush.

The front door opened and closed with a bang and I heard voices in the foyer. Dad had just returned and with him was the sound of Grandpa Joe’s booming voice. I ran down the stairs like a child, slowing only at the sight of my father’s disapproving glance.

My hands automatically start flattening invisible wrinkles in the skirt of my dress under his gaze, my cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment.

“There’s my beautiful Lucy,” Grandpa said, a smile spreading on his face exposing his straight teeth.

“It’s Quinn now, Daddy,” my mom says softly, putting her hand on my shoulder as I reach the bottom of the staircase.

“She’ll always be my little Lucy, Judith. A new nose and a slim figure won’t change that.” There was no use arguing with Grandpa Joe on the matter. To be honest, he was the one person that I didn’t mind calling me by my given name.

He leans in and kisses my forehead softly, fingers stroking my hair for a moment.

“Come sit with an old man until dinner is ready, Lucy,” he says, ignoring my parents completely. I take his arm and let him lead me into the living room. He sits on the couch and pats the cushion next to me, gesturing for me to join him. 

My mother appears with a glass, three fingers of scotch sloshing slightly inside it. Grandpa takes it with a smile before turning his attention back to me and my mom excuses herself from the room.

“I brought you a book,” he said, reaching inside his smoking jacket and extracted a small paperback from the inside pocket. It was To Kill A Mockingbird. 

I had told him about reading it in school, but he knew I didn’t have my own copy of it. It was definitely a used book and I immediately opened the front cover. Grandpa knew I loved the old notes and had made it a habit of picking up ones with other people’s writing.

There was writing from a father to daughter dated Christmas 1980. Under it, as always, was Grandpa’s handwriting.

My Lucy,

A bright future awaits you. Always remember that good looks only get you so far, but your brain will take you beyond your wildest ambitions.

Love always, Grandpa Joe

My parents didn’t directly say that they were glad I had transitioned from Lucy to Quinn, but I knew they were. I looked more like a Fabray now: flawless skin, blonde hair, slim figure, and dainty nose. I had embraced the Fabray attitude a little bit when I made Cheerios. Grandpa Joe was the only one that seemed sad that I had let go of Lucy.

Random aunts and uncles and a couple of little cousins show up and acknowledge me briefly, calling me Quinn and acting like Lucy never existed. Not Grandpa; he frowns at the sound of my new name every time someone speaks to me.

Dinner went smoothly. I sat primly, using my best manners like my father expected. People asked about Frannie and Dad bragged about his eldest daughter and her respectable high-class boyfriend from California. I was surprised when mom added about me being Head Cheerio and top of my class like she was proud of me. I wasn’t used to having people brag about me. Grandpa gave my knee an affectionate squeeze and winked at me.

As soon as people finished dinner, I sprung up and helped mom clear the table, carrying the dishes into the kitchen and loading them into the dishwasher while she put the leftovers in Tupperware containers and stacked them neatly in the fridge. Pies were sitting on the cooling racks and I help Mom carry them into the dining room, sitting them in the middle of the long table before returning to the kitchen to pick up the china plates.

I only take a tiny slice of apple pie with no ice cream. Grandpa Joe raises his eyebrow at me and tries to coerce me into adding some vanilla ice cream to my plate. I continue to refuse until he gives up. Coach Sylvester already makes life a living hell after such a gluttonous holiday and I don’t feel like running for three hours on Sunday before practice begins again on Monday morning.

Thankfully, most of the relatives clear out shortly after the dessert plates are cleared away. I keep my Fabray smile plastered on my face as I hug and kiss everybody goodbye in the foyer and help them into their jackets. When the door swings closed behind the last ones, my dad loosens his tie and unbuttons his top button at his neck.

Grandpa Joe is sitting in the living room, tapping lightly on his armrest. Mom is in the kitchen loading the dishwasher and rearranging the leftovers again. Dad disappears into his office to make a couple of calls, so I join Grandpa on the couch. He smiles at me warmly and I can’t help but return the gesture.

“Do you like your new book?” He asked softly, running a finger along the rim of his glass of scotch.

“Of course, Grandpa. I’ll be needing a new bookcase soon; my collection is starting to overflow the one I have.” He gave a hearty chuckle.

“I’ll be sure to tell Russ when he drives me back to the home to get my little girl another bookcase. It’s important that you never stop reading, Lucy. You’re too smart for this town and I know your dreams are much larger than it too.” Grandpa wasn’t usually so serious and I eyed him cautiously. “Promise me that you’ll never give up on your dreams, my Lucy.”

“First I need to figure out what my dreams are,” I responded quietly. I wanted to give Grandpa Joe my promise, but I really had no idea what I wanted out of life.

“That’s easy, Lucy. Dreams should bring you the utmost happiness and the things that will bring you happiness are books and love.”

“Books and love, huh?” I say, contemplating. Grandpa understood me in a way that nobody else in my life seemed to. Santana was probably the next closest and she didn’t even know who I was before Quinn came to McKinley.

“Read books, write books, whatever makes you happiest, my dear. But books will only carry you so far. The only way to truly be happy is to let yourself love and be loved. You’ve always been so closed off to the world, but promise me that you’ll open your heart when the right person comes along, Lucy.”

“I promise, Gramps,” I said solemnly. 

My father appeared, pausing in the doorframe, his sports jacket and tie completely missing now. His light blue shirt fit him perfect and was tucked neatly into his pressed khaki pants. He didn’t have to work hard to maintain his good looks.

“Are you ready to go, Joe?” he asked, glancing at his watch distractedly.

“Sure, Russ. Grab my jacket and Lucy here will walk me to the foyer.”

Dad looked like he was about to correct Grandpa and tell him that my name was Quinn, but thought better of it at the last moment. I was grateful for that. Dad and Grandpa Joe seemed to butt heads a lot and I didn’t want a nice evening with my grandfather to be ruined by my dad’s careless comments.

I stood and held Grandpa’s hand and he pulled himself up from the couch cushion, his joints cracking at the movement. I moved my hand to the crook of his elbow and walked with him to the foyer in comfortable silence.

Mom was standing there with an apron on over her dress, pearls shining around her neck and in the studs that were in her ears. She helped Grandpa into his jacket before he turned around and pulled his youngest daughter into a tight hug and thanking her for a lovely dinner. My dad stood rather impatiently by the front door.

Grandpa turned to me and pulled me into his arms. I inhaled his familiar scent. I don’t know what it was about certain people, but they had a distinctive scent that I couldn’t quite identify. Grandpa’s scent was soothing and reminded me of all of the time I spent with him when I was younger telling him about my favorite stories and letting him read the silly stories and poems I wrote myself in a notebook he had given me as soon I was old enough to write.

When Grandpa released me, Dad ushered him out to the car. I waved as they pulled out of the driveway and Grandpa waved back before they disappeared around the corner.

I helped Mom clean up the kitchen to hopefully get her in a good enough mood that she would let Santana come over. She was humming by the time I finished wiping down the counters, so I took that to be a good sign.

“Mom, would it be alright if Santana came over for a little while?” My voice was quiet, pleading that she wouldn’t make a big deal over it. We hadn’t really mentioned Santana’s name often since she told me that Santana was a bad influence.

“As long as you girls aren’t too loud. Your father still has business to attend to.”

“We won’t I promise. Thanks, Mom.” I rushed out of the kitchen before she had a chance to change her mind.

Santana answers her phone on the second ring and tells me she’ll be over in ten minutes. I zoom around my room cleaning imaginary messes. I almost change out of my dress, but decide at the last minute not to. 

Santana calls my phone rather than ringing the doorbell and I fly down the stairs to meet her at the door. She has a fuzzy winter hat pulled down over her dark hair and I smile at how utterly adorable she looks right now. This is not the Santana that comes out around the rest of the population at McKinley. I feel lucky that I get to see this side of her.

I lead her into my bedroom and close the door quietly behind us. My dad isn’t home from dropping Grandpa Joe off yet, but I know it’s better to be quiet and out of the way just in case.

Santana flops down on my bed, obviously comfortable in my room even though she’s only been in here a handful of times. I scroll through my newsfeed on Facebook from my cell phone casually, not sure what she wanted to do.

“Who’s Lucy?” Santana asked and my eyes snapped up. She was holding up my battered copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I considered lying. I had tons of books with inscriptions in them, but almost all of them were followed by the same loopy writing addressed to a girl named Lucy.

“It’s my actual first name,” I say, my face immediately burning red. I had promised to never tell anybody about McKinley about my past as Lucy, but I could feel my resolve slipping around Santana.

“Why do you go by Quinn then?” It was obvious that Santana was genuinely interested. She wasn’t just trying to dig up dirt on me for her own personal gain, which is something I had watched her do to countless other people at school.

“I was a much different person when I lived under the name Lucy. But when I changed, I started going by my middle name instead.”

“I’m sure you didn’t change enough to require you to go by a completely different name.” 

I could just agree with her and not dig up my past. Yet my feet carried me across the room and I picked up a silver frame with a picture of my sister and me from last year. I was wearing my Cheerio uniform; I had already become Quinn. Opening the back carefully, I slid the picture out that was behind the newer one of Frannie and I. It was still the two of us, but it was taken a couple of years earlier. We were standing in front of a huge Christmas tree in the living room. Frannie was slightly taller than me and her frame was naturally slim. Her hair was the color of straw and felt effortlessly to her shoulders. Her eyes were a deep green and sparkled in the picture. Next to her was Lucy with her thick glasses and oily skin and dark, unruly hair. Her cheeks were extremely chubby, her nose too big for her face, and a double chin was peeking out from above the ugly Christmas dress.

With a deep breath, I passed both pictures to Santana. She looked puzzled for a moment, but then her eyes flitted back and forth between the photograph of me as a Cheerio and Lucy on Christmas Eve.

“That’s Lucy,” I whispered, pointing to the girl standing next to my sister in front of the Christmas tree. “And that’s Quinn.” I gestured to myself in the other photograph. Santana was silent as she studied the two pictures.

“It’s amazing what a nose job, contacts, and a strict diet and exercise regime can do,” I said, breaking the awkward silence.

“What made you do it? Change, I mean.” Her eyes were still looking at the photographs instead of my eyes.

“The teasing and bullying mostly. I didn’t fit in even in my own family. So one day I woke up and decided that I couldn’t take it anymore. I convinced Mom to take me to the eye doctor to get contacts. My braces came off shortly afterwards, leaving me with straight white teeth. Frannie got me involved in working out and trained me for cheerleading. I begged Dad for a nose job the summer before ninth grade and he agreed readily, figuring it would be the perfect birthday present since I had lost the weight already and I would be starting at a new school in the fall.”

“I wish I could have met Lucy,” Santana said, a tone of sadness in her voice.

“You would have tortured Lucy. I wouldn’t have been a cheerleader or dating the popular jock. If McKinley was anything like how my old school was for Lucy, I’d be lower on the totem pole than Berry was before Glee club started.”

“You’re probably right,” Santana conceded, hanging her head.

“Hey,” I said, moving towards her and lifting her chin so she was looking at me. “You’re a good person, Santana. I haven’t told anybody about my past since we moved and I trust you enough that I’m telling you all of this because my life could be ruined if it got out that Quinn Fabray wasn’t always the perfect popular cheerleader that she is now.”

Santana gave me a weak smile and I bent down and kissed her lips. She exhaled against me before kissing me back and moving her hand to grip the back of my neck. Our lips slid against one another and I knew we both needed time to adjust to the information I had just shared.

It wasn’t until we broke apart, chests heaving, that I realized I had done what Grandpa Joe had made me promise to do. I had let someone see the real me. Could Santana really be the right one? Grandpa Joe had told me to find love and to let that person in, but I’m sure he didn’t mean a girl that I sometimes hooked up with. He meant a boy that I would marry and have beautiful blonde babies with. Not the rambunctious Latina girl from down the block that took my breath away. But at least I was making good on my promise. The rest I could figure out later.


	10. Chapter 10

A fucking relationship. Well, a secret one, but it still prohibits from me getting action from anybody but Quinn. Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing; Quinn is amazing in bed. I guess Britt has always been right when she has said that sex is better with feelings. I’ve spent two years scoffing at Brittany and ignoring her blatant pleas to talk about what has been going on between us and it’s not until Quinn is in front of me being an insecure, jealous bitch that I realize why I’ve been avoiding the talk with Brittany for so damn long. 

I thought I was avoiding “the talk” because I didn’t want to admit certain things to myself like the fact that I’d rather watch Berry twirl in her obscenely short skirts than ever make out with Finn or any other of the football guys. I have two and a half more years in this shitty cow town to endure and there’s no way I’m doing that with that kind of label permanently adhered to my forehead.

Having Quinn put the same kind of pressure on me feels so different. I have the power to crumble Quinn, but doing it to Quinn would mean I would have to lie. I want all of the things Quinn is offering. Sure, I wasn’t going to fly a freaking rainbow flag in my front yard and we were going to be locked in the closet until we were far away from Lima, but the idea of any sort of future with Quinn feels like winning the biggest prize at the carnival.

I feel like a lovesick, pathetic loser on Thanksgiving as I keep my phone within reach every second of the day. The first message from Quinn comes shortly after noon with a frantic message that she can’t pick what to wear. It’s a little surprising because Quinn basically never cares what her outfits look like. Her closet is filled with a million of her knee-length dresses that don’t flatter her amazing figure in the slightest and she just alternates what color she’s going wear on a given day. I close my eyes and mentally flip through the outfits I’ve seen her in. I have to keep pulling my thoughts away from her legs in her Cheerio uniform to focus on the task at hand. Finally it comes to me and I send her back a text.

Green sleeveless dress with one of your super conservative cardigans. If you really want to pull off your perfect little girl look, throw in some pigtails.

I’m not surprised when I get a message back a minute later, though the words on the screen are unlike any response I had expected to get from Quinn.

You only want me in pigtails so you have something to grab onto later ;)

I practically choke on my own spit at Quinn’s flirty message. In all honesty, I didn’t even know she had it in her. I let myself use it as a pathetic way of asking her if I can come over later. She gives me an open answer yet again and I sigh, sending back a half-hearted joke before stuffing my phone back into my pocket.

Dinner has been cleared hours ago when my phone finally buzzes again. I refrain from immediately accepting the call on the first ring so I don’t sound desperate. As it buzzes a second time, I swipe my thumb across the answer bar and lift it to my ear.

Quinn is inviting me over and I’m accepting without hesitation. I try to sound indifferent when I tell her that I’ll be there in ten minutes, but as soon as I hang up I know how ridiculously smitten I sounded. All she had to do was call and I already come running.

Knowing how uncomfortable the Fabray house usually is, I call Quinn’s cell phone while standing on her front porch instead of ringing the bell. Her dad’s car is missing from the driveway, but I’d still rather avoid an awkward conversation with Mrs. Fabray if I can help it.

A minute later the heavy door swings open and I’m greeted with the sight of Quinn in the outfit I had picked out for her minus the pigtails. In all actuality I prefer her long, loose waves to her hair pulled back anyway. I feel sheepish as I sense her eyes raking down my own outfit: a pair of dark jeans and scuffed black Chucks. I’m wearing a winter coat and I have a beanie pulled down over my ears. I had chosen to walk the couple of blocks and, damn, it was cold out tonight.

She ushers me inside and I catch a glimpse of her mom cleaning up in the dining room before I’m whisked up the stairs towards Quinn’s bedroom. I’ve only been in the room a couple of times, but I waste no time in collapsing onto her bed. I’m facing away from her as I sprawl out on my stomach with my feet dangling off of the edge. Quinn’s perched on the end of the bed, just out of the reach of my peripheral, but I can hear her tapping on the screen of her cell phone.

I reach over and pick up a tattered book that’s sitting on her nightstand. It’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and I chuckle internally at the fact that Quinn is reading a kid’s book. For such a hard-ass bitch, she really is a damn softie.

Careful of the crumbling cover, I open the book and writing catches my eye. The handwriting is formal penmanship that was written in an expensive fountain pen. It’s obviously pretty old as the letters are faded, no longer a strong onyx black. The message is addressed to a girl named Lucy.

“Who’s Lucy?” I ask Quinn and her eyes dart up from her cell phone laced with fear before hardening into indifference. She runs her tongue over her bottom lip briefly before responding.

“It’s my actual first name,” she says, trying to feign nonchalance. I see right through it when I notice the beet-red blush that takes over her perfect porcelain skin. Now I’m just plain curious about what is going on.

“Why do you go by Quinn then?” I ask. I know I’m pushing, but I’m really just interested in why Quinn is pretending to be someone else.

Quinn seems to believe that I’m being genuine, which I am, and I see her shoulders relax just a fraction.

“I was a much different person when I lived under the name Lucy. But when I changed, I started going by my middle name instead.”

Trust Quinn to answer the probing question with the most vague response ever. I let out my breathe and take a moment to plan my next move so that she actually gives me some actual information on what’s going on.

“I’m sure you didn’t change enough to require you to go by a completely different name,” I say as casually as I can muster, letting my eyes penetrate her bright hazel ones.

Quinn moves then, lifting herself off of the end of the bed and walking over to a picture frame that was displayed on top of her dresser. She took the silver frame in her hands and looked down at the picture before crossing the room again. Quinn pauses in front of me and slides the back off of the frame before handing me two pictures.

My eyes dart between the two pictures. One of them is pretty recent; Quinn is wearing her Cheerio uniform and has a face smile plastered to her face with a girl that looks like a younger version of Mrs. Fabray standing beside her. The other photo is much older. The Mrs. Fabray mini-me is in it, standing in front of an enormous Christmas tree looking stiff next to a girl, a few years younger that was overweight and looked awkward next to someone as put together as Quinn’s sister.

“That’s Lucy,” Quinn says softly, jabbing a finger at the girl in the Christmas photo. “And that’s Quinn.”

My eyes follow her finger back over to a girl I recognize well. I glance back at Lucy and realize that under the glasses are the same sparkling hazel eyes as the ones on Quinn Fabray. The tension has seeped into the room at Quinn admitting this huge part of her past. I stay silent, having no idea how to handle it.

“It’s amazing what a nose job, contacts and a strict diet and exercise regime can do,” she says, trying to give a little chuckle.

“What made you do it? Change, I mean,” I ask, not looking up from the photographs held tenderly in my hands.

"The teasing and bullying mostly. I didn't fit in even in my own family. So one day I woke up and decided that I couldn't take it anymore. I convinced Mom to take me to the eye doctor to get contacts. My braces came off shortly afterwards, leaving me with straight white teeth. Frannie got me involved in working out and trained me for cheerleading. I begged Dad for a nose job the summer before ninth grade and he agreed readily, figuring it would be the perfect birthday present since I had lost the weight already and I would be starting at a new school in the fall."

I was immediately sick to my stomach with the idea that her whole family had taken part in changing her. Encouraging your middle school daughter to exercise and eat right was one thing, but what kind of dad lets their fourteen year old daughter get a nose job?

“I wish I could have met Lucy,” I say genuinely, the sadness I feel for the girl welling up inside me.

“You would have tortured Lucy,” Quinn states simply. I finally look up from the pictures. “I wouldn’t have been a cheerleader or dating the popular jock. If McKinley was anything like my old school was for Lucy, I’d be lower on the totem pole than Berry was before glee club started.”

“You’re probably right,” I mumbled, dropping my gaze from hers with a twinge of shame.

“Hey,” Quinn says softly, her fingers against my chin and urging me to look back up at her. “You’re a good person, Santana. I haven’t told anybody about my past since we moved and I trust you enough that I’m telling you all of this because my life could be ruined if it got out that Quinn Fabray wasn’t always the perfect popular cheerleader that she is now.”

Quinn’s eyes are filled with trust and passion and I can’t help but smile. She leans in and kisses me, causing my insides to squirm happily. Quinn, Lucy, whoever she was, was kissing me and wanted to only kiss me. The perfect popular cheerleader is making out with her second in command rather than some asshole jock. I grip her tightly, holding her face tenderly against mine until my lungs start to burn with the need for oxygen.

I pull back, resting my forehead against hers. Her hair tickles my cheeks and I smile at having her this close to me. I move my arms so that I pull her into me, causing us to tumble back onto her bed, both of us giggling.

“I’m glad you came over,” Quinn says quietly, sounding even more vulnerable than when she was telling me all about her secret past.

I reach up and pull her face towards mine, letting our lips meet again instead of responding with words. I’d love to promise her that we’re going to make this work but I’m scared shitless. Instead, I do everything in my power to reassure her physically and avoid talking altogether.

I’m sitting outside Quinn’s house at four in the morning. She clambers down the front steps and down the walkway to my car. I smile as she opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. It’s the first time she’s going Black Friday shopping and as much as I hate being up at this hour, I can’t help but admire how freaking adorable she looks.

I left her house a little after ten last night after she claimed that she needed to get a decent night’s rest for shopping this morning. I could hear the giddiness in her voice at being included in something that had always been a tradition for Britt and I. With one more peck, I was grabbing my jacket and pulling my hat back onto my head for the walk to my house.

Quinn reaches over the center console as I’m backing my car out of her driveway and brushes her fingers across mine that is on the gear shift. I feel an involuntary shiver shoot down my spine at the tiny gesture. I swallow hard and head in the direction of Brittany’s house in near silence.

Guilt consumes me the second Brittany appears, bounding down her driveway with unabashed excitement. I haven’t seen her since she left my house on Wednesday night. Looking at her all I felt was the dark cloud looming over me that I was going to actually talk to her about feelings in the very near future. That was bad enough in itself, but to have to tell her that my feelings didn’t match hers just seemed unbearable.

Quinn hops out of the car and pushes her seat forward and climbs into the back, leaving the passenger seat open for Britt. I sigh softly wishing she was sitting in the front with our hands brushing against one another. As I’m pulling out of Brittany’s driveway, I catch her eye in my rearview mirror. She gives me a warm smile, her eyes dancing with happiness. That look makes all of this hell feel worth it.

The Lima Bean is a necessary stop on the way to the mall. I don’t do well without my morning caffeine on a normal morning and this hour is just unbearable. It’s crowded and I’m instantly cranky at having to wait in line to get a double shot of espresso into my system immediately.

Brittany is bouncing on the balls of her feet while making silly faces at a screaming toddler in front of us in line. Only Britt would find a noisy two year-old exciting at four in the morning. Quinn was standing still and quiet beside me, her hands buried in the pockets of her pea coat as she gazes at the chalkboard menu mounted behind the counter. Her hair is pulled back from her face in a loose ponytail and her face has practically no makeup on it. Her skin is flawless as always and I force myself to pull my gaze away before I get caught staring.

We finally get to the counter. Brittany orders a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream before moving aside. I gesture to Quinn, letting her go first. She blushes lightly at my chivalry and orders her chai tea. I give the barista my order: extra large coffee with a double shot of espresso. I see Quinn raise an eyebrow at me, but it drops when I shrug my shoulders and give her a sheepish smile.

I give the girl a twenty and wait for my change, my eyes watching Quinn and Brittany standing next the pick-up counter. Brittany is talking animatedly and Quinn is obviously half-listening, her eyes darting over to catch a glimpse of me. It’s weird that the smallest little move makes my insides melt.

My right hand is gripped around my coffee, the left on the steering wheel as I pull into the mall parking lot. It’s absolute madness and I have to drive up and down the parking lot for fifteen minutes before finally getting a parking spot. I zoom into it before some asshole can steal it and toss the gear shift into park and climbing out of the car.

The air is crisp and I can almost feel the Christmas season in the air. My breath appears in front of my face in little puffs as I breathe and wait for Britt and Quinn to get out of the car. We walk towards the entrance of the mall in silence. Brittany is skipping happily a little bit ahead of Quinn and I, so I take the opportunity to walk with her.

“Ready for the joys of Black Friday?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee.

“This place is already a zoo,” she replies, glancing around the packed parking lot and the line of people outside of the entrance waiting for the doors to be open.

“Just wait until we race the crazy moms for the toys! They are freaking nut jobs if you can get your hands on the Barbie they want for their kid,” I say with a laugh.

“Do you actually do any Christmas shopping?” she asks as we join Brittany in the growing line.

“Unless buying myself a new wardrobe on Daddy’s credit card counts as early shopping for myself, no.” Quinn gives her head a little shake in disbelief.

“You get up at this ridiculous hour to buy yourself new clothes? You do that every day anyway, San,” she says, trying to wrap her head around the situation.

“That defeats all of the fun, Fabray! Don’t you want to knock some bitches out of the way to make sure you get the season’s hottest knee-high leather boots?”

Quinn still looks shocked that she got out of her warm bed at this hour to accompany while I try on amazing shoes and tight dresses. I guess I’ll just have to show her my appreciation of her company in a dressing room later.

The doors open and people start pouring into the mall and run in every direction. Brittany grabs my hand so that we don’t get separated. I still have my coffee in my other hand, so I offer Quinn the crook of my elbow to grasp as we push our way through the crowds of people and head directly for my favorite shoe store.

The place is packed and people are pulling boxes down from every shelf by the time we get there. I had looked at the circulars the day before so I knew exactly what I wanted. I weave through the crowds and through the women’s shoes until I see them on display. The boots are knee-length and made of soft black leather. They have enough heel to boost me a couple of inches. I scan the shelves expertly, extracting a box in my size. I push my way to a bench and squeeze in next to a major MILF that was trying on a pair of cheetah print heels. 

I slide my feet out of my Ugg boots and pull the beautiful boots out of the box. I tug them onto my feet and pull the zipper up my calf, feeling them hug my legs perfectly. I stand up and take a few steps in them. They feel fantastic and my fingers are itching to swipe Dad’s credit card already.

I feel eyes on me which, to be honest, was pretty typical. I was one of the few ethnic people in Lima and I was smoking hot. What I wasn’t expecting was to spin around to catch Quinn Fabray’s eyes glued to my ass in the middle of the busy store. I smirk at her until her eyes make the slow path up to meet mine. Her eyes flutter away in embarrassment and she turns back to the plain flats she had been looking at.

The other two join me in the checkout line with their hands empty. I’m clutching the shoebox possessively as the line slowly inches forward. My heart is pounding from all of the caffeine and I’m jittery as fuck. Damn, I totally deserved that Quinn eyebrow earlier. She knew I shouldn’t have drank that much coffee. I finally pay for the shoes and we leave the store with our first bag of the morning. 

By ten, we are weighed down with our purchases. Well I am at least. Quinn only has one small bag and Brittany has three, one of them being a huge amount of candy. My stomach is grumbling angrily at the fact that I had skipped breakfast, so we load our bags into my trunk and I drive us to the diner in the middle of town.

The place is packed with moms and their young kids who obviously didn’t want to cook the morning after Thanksgiving. The hostess leads us to a booth on the far side and I slide in first. Quinn immediately slides in beside me before Brittany has a chance to do so. I want to laugh at the obvious attempt to make sure she got to sit next to me, but I suppress it, not feeling like starting an awkward conversation with either of them.

I glance down at my menu and try to ignore the warmth of Quinn’s leg pressed against mine on the seat bench. The bench is easily long enough that we could sit far enough apart to avoid brushing legs, but she obviously has ulterior motives to drive me absolutely insane.

My fingers twitch, wanting to reach across her lap and intertwine with her own. I refrain; the restaurant is crowded and it’s inevitable that we’ll see someone we know over the course of breakfast. It makes me wish for high school to be over so that we can move somewhere that we won’t have to hide this kind of crap.

I turn my attention back to the conversation at the table. Quinn is listening to Brittany talk about Lord Tubbington. Her eyebrows are knit as she works to maintain her serious face given the topic at hand. It’s impressive the way she can wear such a mask at all times; most people would have broken down and told Britt that she’s absolutely ridiculous at this point. But Quinn’s face is as stony as can be, her fingers absentmindedly playing with her straw wrapper.

Our food arrives at the table and my stomach growls in appreciation from the very first bite of my waffles. I shove a piece of bacon in at the same time and moan at the deliciousness of it all. Quinn giggles and rolls her eyes at me as she carefully cuts her pancakes into little squares. Brittany is pouring ketchup over her scrambled eggs to look like a face before swirling it all together and shoving a forkful into her mouth. It’s adorable and I’ve watched her do it probably a million times, but my urge is to watch Quinn cut with precision, taking her time pouring the sugar-free syrup over them and lifting the first bite to her mouth. I’m halfway done with my food by the time she starts eating.

By the time Quinn finally finishes her breakfast and we pay, it’s nearly noon. My caffeine levels have fallen drastically and I can’t wait to crawl into my bed and sleep the afternoon away.

I’m about to drive past Quinn’s house in favor of my own automatically, figuring we’d all nap together. She asks me to drop her off and I catch her glance in the mirror, trying to read her expressionless face.

“We always have nap time after shopping, Q!” Brittany exclaims from the passenger seat as I guide the car to the curb in front of the Fabray mansion. 

It clicks then: Quinn wants me have alone time with Britts to have “the talk.” I swallow hard at the thought and avoid catching her eyes again.

“Sorry, B. I have a lot of homework to get done and I want to be able to hang out with your guys tonight,” Quinn replies nonchalantly. I hop out of my seat to let her out and follow her to the trunk so she can get her solitary bag.

“You can come over, you know,” I say softly as I lift the trunk door up. She rifles through the mess of bags for a moment until she locates her own. I shove my hands nervously into my pocket and stare down at my shoes.

“San..” she says, obviously aware I know exactly why she’s not coming over. “Hopefully I’ll see you tonight,” she says sweetly with a smile I’ve only ever seen her use when looking at me. My heart melts instantly and I reach out to graze her hand quickly before walking back towards my car door.

“See ya, Q,” I say, trying to stay emotionally vacant as I possibly can.

I climb back into the car and pull away from the curb without glancing back. As soon as I pull my car into my garage I turn off the ignition and move to grab the bags out of the trunk. I’m no longer in the mood to nap now that Quinn isn’t here. Brittany picks up her own bags and follows me into the house.

We close ourselves into my bedroom and Brittany immediately makes herself comfortable in my bed, sliding under the covers and scooting to the side to give me room to crawl in next to her. I know I have two choices: talk to her and get to have Quinn for real but break her heart or climb into bed and take a nap and just try to avoid getting into awkward situations with Britt. 

Against my gut, I choose the weak path and climb into the bed, trying to stay strictly on my side of the bed. Brittany immediately rolls over to snuggle into my side and my body goes stiff. I hope that she doesn’t notice because I really don’t want to explain right now.

Her lips brush my neck right under my ear and I jerk away. The confusion immediately sprung across her face at my rejection and my stomach dropped. Good, I hate making Britt feel anything but happy.

“I’m exhausted, Britts,” I mumble and roll away. There’s always later to deal with this.

I don’t actually take a nap. I feel guilty about not doing what I know Quinn expects me to. I feel awful about shrugging Brittany off with zero explanation. Instead I stare at my ceiling and listen to the steady rhythm of Brittany’s breathing. It’s something that I’ve fallen asleep thousands of times but now it just makes me completely restless.

When my phone starts buzzing on my nightstand I roll over, careful not to cause Brittany to stir, and scoop it up.

I miss you. How are things with B?

Knots immediately form in my stomach. Omitting isn’t lying, right?

They’re okay. She’s sleeping right now and I’m lying on the other side of the bed thinking ‘bout you.

Flattery goes a long way. It should be enough to buy me at least a few hours, if not a couple of days.

I lean up on my elbows and glance over at Britt. She’s so peaceful and innocent, but it triples when she’s sleeping. I can’t help but crack a smile at the sight of my best friend. She was my first everything. Am I really willing to throw that all away for the undeniable angst that Quinn causes me on a regular basis? Brittany is simple and even though I never know what is going to come out of her mouth, her loyalty is unwavering.

I can’t take the agony of lying here any longer, so I slip out of the bed. If I go downstairs, my mom will know something is up with me and will make me talk about it so I’m stuck amusing myself in my bedroom. Part of me wants to sneak out of my window and visit Quinn. I wish I had the balls to confess to her that I’m a scared closeted teenager that has no idea how to turn down the one person who has always loved me despite my tremendous flaws.

Instead, I pick up a notebook from my desk and rifle through the drawer for a pen. I’ve never been much of a writer, but it seems better than having to say the words.

Quinn comes over after dinner and I’m excited and nervous all at once at the sight of her standing in the doorway of my bedroom. She hadn’t bothered knocking so she obviously trusted that all parties inside would be fully dressed, so that’s definitely a start. Her face lights up with the most perfect smile and my anxiety is soothed slightly just at the sight of her. 

She glides across the room with her typical gracefulness and hops up onto the bed next to me. I can feel her eyes trying to read the situation to figure out how the afternoon went. Britt is sprawled across the end of my bed with my laptop in front of her stalking some random junior guy that she made out with on Wednesday night. 

I can see Quinn’s eyebrow quirk in my peripheral and the knots immediately reform in my stomach. She knows I haven’t told Brittany anything yet. I mean, I guess it’s pretty obvious. I doubt Brittany would be lying around my room so carefree if she knew I’d rather be sleeping with Quinn instead of her. Then again, Brittany rarely gets upset about anything.

“What’s the plan for tonight?” Quinn asks, smoothing invisible wrinkles from the skirt of her dress.

I shrug, really not in the mood to deal with anything tonight. It’s the perfect night for a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a marathon of really bad reality television shows by myself in my bed. However, I know that’s not an option with these two around.

“There’s an upperclassman party at Paul’s,” Brittany says, her eyes still glued to the computer screen. I look over at Quinn at the mention of her ex-boyfriend’s name. She’s still completely stony faced.

“Could be fun,” I say casually, leaning over to get a nail file out of my nightstand drawer and start filing my nails simply for something to do but stare at the two girls on my bed right now.

 

“Whatever you guys want to do is fine,” responds Quinn. I didn’t really know how to take that so I just shrug.

A party could be amazing or dangerous. Britt got even more cuddly when she had been drinking and I couldn’t recall a party we had attending in the past year that we had drank without at least making out with one another. Even if I hadn’t actually talked to Britt about our situation yet, I really didn’t want to break my word to Quinn. This party could end up being the preliminary test to whether we should even waste our time pursuing this insane secret relationship.

“Let’s do it,” I say, making up my mind. If I can respect Quinn’s parameters while drunk around B, then I’ll have the feelings talk with Britt and give this stuff with Quinn a chance. If I can’t handle it, then I will stop dragging Quinn through all of this angst.

Quinn smiles nervously and I know that we’re sort of on the same page without even speaking. I start praying in my head that I don’t screw this all up tonight. I don’t want to lose both of my best friends because they’re all I have in this town.

“Who wants to do shots?” I ask, getting up to extract the bottle from my closet. Here’s to the start of a crazy night.


	11. Chapter 11

Paul’s house is already crowded when we arrive. We push our way through the foyer and I find a closet to toss our jackets until we’re ready to leave. Most of the guests are upperclassmen and yet the three of us turn heads like it’s nothing as I lead us through the house in search of the booze.

Puck and Finn are standing by the counter in the kitchen talking to Paul and Tim. It takes all of my effort to suppress my urge to laugh out loud. The only four guys Quinn had ever been involved with were all within a five-foot radius of us. Instead, I say hello to them quickly and push past to get to the keg. There’s a group of junior football players surrounding it but they part like the Red Sea at the sight of us. I expertly pour beers from the tap and pass one to each Britt and Quinn before filling my own red cup.

With drinks in hand, we wander back to Quinn’s posse of semi-sexual conquests. The boys are pouring shots on the kitchen island and Tim turns around to offer me one. I decline and pass it off to Britt, who drains with without protest and chases it with a swig from her beer. I already have a good buzz from pregaming and I don’t want to lose control tonight so I take slow sips from my beer instead. Quinn also refuses a shot, catching my eye as she does so.

We follow Puck and Finn into the living room after they finish their shots. There’s a group of people sitting on the floor around the coffee table playing quarters. In the far corner, there’s a table set up and a rowdy game of beer pong is underway. There are a ton of wasted guys over there so I steer Quinn and Brittany in the direction of the couches instead.

As soon as we sit, I can feel Brittany wriggling beside me, literally moving with the need to dance. The music playing out of the surround sound system is mediocre at best and is relaxed, like something I would smoke a joint to. I pat Brittany’s leg to tell her I’m on it and I stride over to the entertainment unit. Paul’s iPod is on the dock so I scroll through it for something decent. It takes forever, but finally some recent hip-hop song is blaring through the speakers and I watch Britt jump up to start dancing.

She tries to intercept me on my way back to the couch to dance with her. I slip out of her grip by shoving a junior football player into the direction of her gyrating hips. She smiles happily and loops an arm around his neck as she starts to move against him. I release a small sigh of relief and allow myself to sit back down next to Quinn on the couch.

“You look sexy,” I say into Quinn’s ear, letting my breath tickle the shell of her ear before pulling back. Her face is scarlet, but her smile is genuine and that alone makes me smile. My confidence is starting to return and I take a gulp of my beer and relax back into the couch cushions.

It’s not as crazy as a Tim or Puck party, but it’s still a pretty decent crowd of popular kids. Usually I would be working the room looking for my best option at having some fun that night, but right now I’m really content to people watch with the warmth of Quinn pressed lightly against my left side. She’s playing with her red cup and my gaze follows the graceful movements of her fingers along the rim. It amazes me how everything she does is just so damn sexy.

I turn back to watching people flit about the room before someone catches me staring at Quinn’s hands. Brittany is front and center, her body moving perfectly in beat with the music and a gaggle of excited boys moving awkwardly around her. I get a little heart pang at the fact that every one of the guys know they have a chance at getting lucky tonight, especially because I’m not cutting in and whisking her away from their terrible attempts at flirting. She’s my best friend and I should protect her, even if I won’t be able to distract her with body shots and making out.

I stand up, knowing I can’t just watch these boys treat my best friend like a piece of meat. I can feel Quinn’s gaze on me as I push through the boys and place my hand gently on Brittany’s arm.

“Is it time for body shots, San?” Brittany asks loudly, which just encourages all the boys to cheer. God, they are such pigs.

“I’m not really feeling it, B,” I say, trying to calm the situation but it’s hard with all of the catcalls from the guys.

“I’ll do one with you,” says Quinn from right behind me. I didn’t even know she had followed me over.

Obviously she had heard what I said to Brittany. She knew I wasn’t going to become the center of attention by making out with Britt because she was in the picture. Quinn was bailing me out by choosing herself to take the hit instead.

Brittany didn’t seem to notice though, and she ran over to Puck and the two of them headed into the kitchen for supplies.

“What the hell are you doing, Q?” I ask, my teeth gritted as I whisper into her ear so the boys can’t hear.

“Allowing you to continue your obvious attempt to be honorable tonight,” she said quickly, turning her attention to where Brittany had reappeared with everything necessary for body shots. My stomach clenched as I watch her walk towards the other blonde. She was actually going to go through with this.

Two boys cleared the coffee table and Brittany pulled her shirt over her head before laying down on it. Puck licked a trail up Britt’s abs and sprinkled salt over it. I watched her steady breaths from the rise and fall of the little trail of salt and knew that Quinn’s tongue would be running up it any minute.

Quinn was clutching a shot glass of light amber liquid and Puck handed Britt a lime wedge that she immediately held in place with her teeth. Quinn bent forward to lick off the salt, her eyes trained on me the entire time. I felt an embarrassing rush of pleasure through my groin at the movement of her deliberate tongue. She pulled away enough to take the shot before sliding up Brittany’s body and pulling the lime from the dancer’s teeth with ease. Britt reached up and grabbed Quinn’s hair, forcing Quinn to spit out the lime rind and kiss her.

The guys in the room were enthralled by the ice queen topping McKinley’s biggest flirt, but the sounds of their catcalls and whistles and the flashing of their cell phone cameras made me completely sick. It’s not like I could stop them; it would cause more attention to be drawn to the situation and I really didn’t want to deal with that. So I looked at my shoes just to avoid watching the way Quinn gripped Brittany’s bare side as they kissed, both of them seemingly enjoying themselves.

After what seemed like half an hour, Quinn slid off of Brittany and helped her onto her feet. The boys were groaning in disappointment and I laughed at the sight of a couple of them adjusting the front of their jeans as Brittany picked up her shirt from the floor and pulled it back over her head.

“My turn,” said Quinn, turning on her heel and looking directly at me. “Help me, San?”

Her statement was loud enough for the whole room to hear and the boys agreed wholeheartedly that I should be involved. I blinked at her with confusion, trying to figure out why the hell she was doing this. Quinn hated these ridiculous party antics that Brittany and I played. She despised us messing with our sexuality under the pretense of doing it just for the pleasure of the boys. Yet is standing in front of me, her hands gripping the bottom edge of her blouse and her eyes fixed in a staring contest with my own. 

I gulped, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat. Quinn noticed and smirked triumphantly at me, lifting her shirt over her head and exposing her plain white bra. It looked subdued after seeing the pink zebra striped one Britt was wearing and her skin looked so pale against the fabric. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to run my tongue along that skin right now, but I had to wait until there was a trail of salt to maintain our cover as indulging in a silly party game.

Puck still had control of the saltshaker and I watched with a scowl as he licked from her collarbone and down into her cleavage. She giggled awkwardly and squirmed under his touch, pushing him away when he got to close to the end of her bra. He pulled back and shook the salt over the wet trail of her skin. Britt handed me a full shot glass and I balanced it on the table next to Quinn’s head.

This was my chance to kiss the girl I had feelings for in front of a room full of my peers and I wasn’t going to waste it by making it a mediocre experience. I threw my leg over Quinn’s, straddling her waist. Slowly, I bent forward, allowing my body to push against hers as I moved towards the salt-covered skin. In my peripheral, I saw her eyes try to follow me, her teeth struggling to hold onto the lime wedge.

I let my tongue roll along her collarbone before hitting the salt and moving downwards towards her cleavage. I felt her breath hitch as my tongue grazed the edge of the material. Remembering that I was in a room filled with horny teenagers watching my every move, I forced myself to lift my head and pick up the shot glass, tossing the tequila down my throat before crawling up Quinn’s body a little more so I could grab the lime. I bit it and let the citric acid soothe the burn of cheap liquor on my throat before pulling it from my own lips and smashing them against Quinn’s.

The cheers of the boys seem distant, as I get lost in Quinn. I run my tongue along her lips, cleaning off the remnants from the lime she had held against them. She opens her mouth willingly and lets my tongue dip inside to caress hers. It is an aggressive kiss; one that is filled with everything I want to prove to her. I feel her breath hitch and a surge of pleasure runs through me as she shifts slightly beneath me. If we weren’t in the middle of a crowded room I would be tearing my shirt off so I could feel her bare skin on mine.

The reminder that we weren’t alone is what causes me to pull away. Her lips are deep red and I just want to lean back in to bite the pouting bottom one. I can’t get myself into that kind of situation though so I drag myself off of her and hold my hands out to help her up.

As she slides up from the coffee table, her eyes are locked on mine and I see her lust clearly displayed in them. I gulp and pull my own gaze away before I do something I shouldn’t. My eyes fall on Brittany standing off to the side looking a little confused and maybe even a bit hurt. I lean down and toss Quinn her shirt before going over to Britt.

“What’s up, B?” I ask gently, resting my hand on her forearm. She doesn’t pull away but she won’t meet my eyes.

“That used to be our thing and now you’re doing it with Quinn instead of me.” It drives me crazy about how upfront Brittany can be. It’s probably because I can never voice my feelings easily and she can do it without even thinking.

“It’s just a silly party thing, Britts. I just knew Quinn wanted a chance to play with you.”

Britt cracked a weak smile. Disaster averted.

“C’mon, let’s get you another drink,” I say, pulling her towards the kitchen.

Quinn is on the beer pong table when I wander back into the living room with Brittany in tow. Her shirt is still off and is tossed around her neck, which is serving as a clear distraction for both the other team and Puck, who is playing as her partner.

My own jaw goes slack at the sight. Her hair is wildly messy and hangs over her shoulders in every direction. Her chest looks great in her plain bra with just enough snugness to give her a nice line of cleavage. Ab muscles are clearly defined in the pale skin and she is holding a red cup while taunting the guys across from her. She really is a sight to behold.

Britt disappears from my side to go dance and I pull myself away from staring. Quinn seems oblivious to the attention she’s getting from pretty much every person in the room. Boys are practically drooling and girls are glancing at her perfect figure with envy. I smirk and sidle up to her, sliding my hand over the bare skin of her lower back until I’m hugging her waist.

“Looking good, Fabray,” I whisper against the shell of her ear before pulling back again. She glances at me with a look that is pure sex and I feel my arousal grow immediately.

“Do you mind? We’re trying to play here!” whines Puck, tossing an arm over Quinn’s bare shoulders and tries to pull her into him to stake her as his own. I give a mirthless chuckle before lightly squeezing Quinn’s side and pulling away from her.

“Have fun,” I say, addressing her and ignoring him. If he thinks that he’s ever getting into her pants again, then he has a serious ass-kicking coming.

I chat with some of the other Cheerios in attendance and try to avoid staring in Quinn’s direction. Puck has also lost his shirt and is flexing his muscles at her every two seconds. Brittany is making out with her latest triumph in a corner and I don’t bother trying to break them up. She can handle her own.

I’m ready to go, but my friends are too distracted to notice. I grab a bottle of water from Paul’s fridge and sip it just to have something to do in the meantime. I plop myself on the couch and start playing a game on my phone to pass the time.

Finally Brittany stumbles towards me with her gangly sophomore guy clinging to her arm. I dislodge him with some vicious words and send him on his way. She smiles appreciatively before sitting practically in my lap on the couch. I shift so that I’m sitting rigidly and fold my hands in my lap so that it’s clear that I’m not making any attempt to touch her. I really don’t want to awake the beast that is drunk Quinn tonight.

Quinn and Puck get kicked off the beer pong table after a particularly sloppy game and Quinn makes her way over to use shakily. She collapses right into my lap, tumbling halfway onto Britt in the process. Her and Britt start giggling uncontrollably, their bodies shaking against me. I grab Quinn’s waist and pull her upright so that she’s on my lap with her arm over my shoulder.

“I think it’s time for us to go,” I say sternly to both of the hysterical girls. I lift Quinn to her feet before standing myself and then pulling Brittany up from the couch. I convince a junior Cheerio easily to drive us home and she helps me get the two blondes into the car before heading in the direction of my house.

Brittany falls asleep on the car ride and I have to shake her violently when we pull into my driveway to wake her up. Quinn’s head is resting on my shoulder, but she’s thankfully awake and manages to stumble out of the car on her own. I extract my keys from my purse and unlock the front door, gesturing madly at my two best friends to stay quiet as we creep up to my bedroom. It takes a lot of effort to get them both up the stairs, but eventually it happens and I lock us into the room before flipping on the lights.

Quinn is swaying in place in the middle of the room and Brittany is already sprawled out across the bed, still dressed and taking up the entire thing. I change my own clothes quickly and then I shove Brittany into a sitting position and pull her shirt over her head, making her start to giggle again. She leans forward to try and kiss me, but I pull back and grab a t-shirt, helping her pull it over her head. I undo her belt and coerce her into shimmying out of her jeans until they lay in a sloppy pile on my floor. Britt tries to crawl under the covers in just her underwear, but I force a pair of her shorts on before I let her. She moves all the way to the far side of the bed and passes out immediately.

Quinn has evidently been watching my every move and her eyes are dark when they meet mine. She’s still swaying slightly, the alcohol coursing through her tired body. I walk over to her and pull her shirt off just like I had done to Brittany, but I let my fingers linger as they graze her ribcage. She smirks at me and reaches behind herself to unclasp her bra. I watch as the material falls away, leaving perfect porcelain globes right in front of my face. She runs her hands over them casually before bending down to pull her shirt from her bag. My mouth runs dry and I want to curse her for teasing me like this.

I watch her body disappear under the baggy t-shirt and focus my attention on the tight pants sliding down her legs. She almost immediately pulls on a tiny pair of shorts, leaving me with a great view of her legs. I walk over and turn off the light, leaving us with only the light streaming from the streetlight outside my bedroom window. I can’t see Quinn’s eyes as clearly now, but I feel them on me, studying me, as I move towards the bed.

She follows, climbing in beside me. Brittany is curled up in the far corner, snoring softly. Quinn slides under the comforter and scoots over until she’s pressed against me. I sigh and wrap my arm around her, pulling her even closer. My lips brush against her forehead and I feel her smile into my shoulder.

Quinn slides up a bit until our faces are even with one another and she leans into kiss me. I give her a peck, but then I pull away. She immediately looks hurt and my stomach drops at the sight.

“Q, Britt’s in the bed. We can’t do this here.” I whisper urgently, trying to explain my actions so that disappointment will be erased from her features.

“Hence why you should have told her about us,” Quinn says icily and rolls away from me.

I suppress the urge to groan loudly, but I know that’ll just cause a bigger fight and I really don’t feel like dealing with an angry Quinn right now. Instead, I roll over onto my stomach and try to force myself to fall asleep.

I awake the next morning to Brittany pressed against my left side and Quinn curled into my right. I bask for a minute in the warmth of having them both flanking me, but then I go rigid. There’s really no way for me to move without disturbing both of them, so instead I close my eyes and try to fall back asleep so one of them can wake up first.

I do end up dozing off after a while and wake up again to my right side empty. Quinn is in the process of folding her clothes from last night and placing them neatly into her bag. I blink groggily at her and she looks up as I shift under the blankets.

She leans over the bed and gives me a chaste kiss on my dry lips. I try to reach out to pull her in again, but she moves too quickly.

“I need to get home. Call me later if you want,” she says casually before walking away from the bed.

Damn Quinn and her manipulation. She is escaping to again leave me alone today with Brittany so I can make good on my promise. I sigh and roll away from Brittany’s grasp as Quinn disappears out my bedroom door.

I slide out of the bed a few minutes later, my mind too busy racing to let me fall back asleep with Britt beside me. I grab my towel off of its hook and head for the shower.

The warm water eases some of my tension and wicks away the grimy feeling that always seems to accompany the morning after partying. I sing softly to try and avoid thinking about everything running through my head.

Brittany is awake and looking like a ray of sunshine when I walk back into my bedroom wrapped only in a towel. I feel her eyes rake my body appreciatively and I turn away, feeling guilty. I should have brought my clothes with me into the bathroom. I slip into underwear and a bra before letting the towel drop and then quickly pull a pair of black skinny jeans up my legs and toss a baggy sweater over my head.

It’s not until I’m completely dressed that I look back in Brittany’s direction. She’s still watching me curiously and I just wish she’d stop. Britt has always made me feel like she can read my thoughts. I grab my coat and she gives me a confused look. 

“Feel like feeding the ducks?” I ask her, picking up her Cheerio jacket and holding it out to her.

Her face lights up with that childlike wonder and I feel myself melting. Brittany is just so simple and easy to please. She’s always just accepted that I don’t take about the real issues and lets me live in this state of denial with no prodding. Life with Brittany could be easy, but deep down I know that it would never be as satisfying. I love her, but I’m not in love with her. I can’t see myself spending my life with her once we leave Lima just because our dreams are never going to line up together. Britt was always meant to fly without boundaries or anything holding her back.

She accepts her coat from me and pulls it on over a sweatshirt she borrowed from my closet. Her hair is tossed up in a messy ponytail and she’s wearing sweatpants tucked into her rubber boots. I would never be caught dead in that outfit in public and I know that if Quinn was here she would try to convince Britt to change, but I just smile and hold the door open for her.

I grab a half empty bag of bread for the ducks and two packages of pop-tarts from the cabinet for us and we head out. The ride to the park only takes about two minutes in my car and Brittany hops out excitedly, not even waiting for me as she skips towards the edge of the lake.

My breath comes out in little puffs in front of my face in the cold November air as I follow Britt. I walk slowly, burying my hands into the pockets of my jacket to keep them warm. She is dancing along the edge in her natural grace when I reach her and I smile at her carefree nature. There’s only a couple of ducks and one goose swimming in the water.

I hand Britt the bag of bread and she immediately starts to tear the slices up into duck-sized bites before throwing them into the water. The birds swim closer, diving at the soggy bread and quacking loudly. Britt talks to them like they are her friends as she feeds them and I just stand back and watch.

As soon as the bread has all disappeared and the ducks get bored and swim away, Brittany skips over to me and sits down on the bench overlooking the water. I sit next to her and hand her a package of chocolate pop-tarts. She tears the foil wrapper open and chomps happily.

“Hey, B?” I start, having no idea what I should really say.

She turns towards me, crumbs of her pop-tart stuck to her lips. I want to smile, but my nerves get the best of me and I turn my gaze down to my feet instead.

“You know you’re my best friend right?” I ask her, kicking some rocks with the toe of my boot.

“Totally. We’ve been best friends for a super long time and we’re even more than friends, aren’t we?” Brittany asks, her tone so sweet and innocent.

“Well, that’s kind of what I want to talk about. I think we should just be best friends.” 

My face is warm despite the cold and I bite my lip. I can’t convince myself to look up and see the expression on her face right now.

“Do you not like my lady kisses anymore?” she asks and my heart aches. I don’t know how I can possibly make her see how much I care about her while I’m breaking her heart.

“It’s not that, B. It’s just that I don’t want to lead you on. You should be free to be with someone that can love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“You don’t love me?” I could hear the shakiness in her voice as she asked me the question. God, Quinn owed me big time for doing this to my B.

“Of course I love you,” I say, lifting my face to look into her eyes. I nearly break when I see the tears pooling in them. “But I’m not being fair to you because I’m not in love with you. Do you understand the difference?”

Brittany gives me the weakest of nods and a single tear leaks out of her left eye. I immediately pull my hand from my pocket to wipe it away from her cheek.

“You’re in love with Quinn, aren’t you?” It’s really more of a statement than a question.

“I never meant for it to happen like this,” I respond, my voice sounding choked as I push it from my throat. “You’re my best friend, Britts. I never want to hurt you.”

Britt’s lanky arms wrap around me tightly and hold me as my own tears start to fall. We sit like this for a long time until my tears dry up and we start shivering from the cold.

“We’ll always be best friends, Sanny,” Brittany states confidently. She stands up and offers me her pinky finger. I give her a weak smile and link mine through hers. We head back to my car, each of us lost in our own thoughts, and I drop her pinky when we reach the passenger side door.

“Want to grab a hot chocolate at the Lima Bean?” I ask her as I pull out of the parking space, noticing her bright red nose in the mirror.

“Can you just drop me off at my house?” she asks quietly, playing with her fingers in her lap. I want to fight her and tell her that we can still hang out today, but I know that I shouldn’t be selfish about this.

“Sure, B.”

The remainder of the drive to Brittany’s is completely silent. I tap on the steering wheel impatiently as we wait at a red light. I’m fighting with myself to not take it all back just so I don’t have to see Britt sad every again. When I pull into her driveway, Brittany turns and looks at me.

“I’m happy for you, San. I know I’m sad now because you don’t love me back, but I’ll be happy again soon. You and Quinn are good for one another.”

“Thanks for being the best, B,” I say genuinely. “You won’t tell anybody about me and Q, right?”

Britt makes a little cross over her heart and I let out a chuckle. She reaches over and squeezes my hand that is resting on the gearshift for a brief second before bounding out of the car and up her front steps without a backwards glance.

I pull onto my block and automatically stop at Quinn’s house when I see that her parents’ cars are absent from the driveway. I feel nervous as I ring the doorbell and I shift my weight back and forth as I stand on the balls of my feet. The door finally swings open to reveal a very sweaty Quinn. She gives me a half smile and moves out of the way so I can come inside.

“I wasn’t expecting you here,” she says cautiously.

“I told her.” I knew there wasn’t a need for more explanation at this point.

Quinn’s face immediately brightens. She gestures for me to follow her and I do until we are standing in her bedroom.

“I need to shower. We’ll talk when I get back,” she states simply, grabbing a towel from the back of her computer chair and disappearing into her en suite.

I settle in on her bed despite feeling very out of place in her bedroom. I choose to scroll through my phone rather than snoop on her shelves as tempted as I am.

She’s back within fifteen minutes, the towel wrapped tightly around her body and her hair dripping down onto the carpet. I try not to stare and continue to focus on the screen of my phone despite being completely distracted by the fact that Quinn is practically naked mere feet away.

“Britt took everything okay?” she asks, pulling the towel from her body. 

I peel my eyes off of my phone to look at her and I feel my throat go immediately dry. I’m practically choking on my tongue and I’ve never felt so uncoordinated in my entire life.

“San, you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, everything is f-fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Quinn chides, glancing up at me with an amused grin.

“It’d be a lot easier to talk if you’d put some clothes on,” I whine, my cheeks flushing in my embarrassment.

Quinn walks over to her dresser and pulls on clean underwear and a sports bra before pulling on a pair of yoga pants that hug her ass and a plain white t-shirt.

“Better?” she asks with a smirk. I fight the urge to drag her to the bed right that moment.

I nod instead before I can say something stupid. I’ve spent the last year and a half chasing this girl and confronting her about our obvious feelings, but now that we’re actually doing this I have turned into a blithering idiot. Quinn sits down on the edge of the bed, tucking her foot under her and focusing her attention completely by me. I blush under her unwavering gaze and meet her eyes.

“Is Britt okay?” she asks, sounding genuinely concerned for our friend’s well being. At least she seems to understand how hard this morning was.

“She’ll be alright. She’s upset right now but she understands and said that we’re good for one another.”

Quinn looked at me contemplatively like she was carefully planning out her next sentence. I bit my lip due to my sheer nerves about the direction that this conversation was going. I’ve laid my feelings on the line with Quinn and I know I’m ready to do this, but it’s impossible to not worry about people finding out or Brittany accidentally slipping in her typical innocent manner. People can’t know that Quinn and I are sleeping together and, furthermore, that we actually have feelings for each other.

“How are you?” Quinn says, her eyes boring holes into my forehead as I look down at my cuticles.

“What do you mean?” I say, pretending like Quinn couldn’t possibly be worried about my own well being.

“You just went through a really hard thing involving hurting your best friend this morning. Don’t act like this situation doesn’t bother you, Santana,” Quinn replies firmly. Whether I like it or not, she’s going to make me talk about the situation.

“It sucks because I’ve always done everything in my power to protect Britt from anything that can hurt her in the world and here I am being the one inflicting the pain upon her. I always promised myself I’d never hurt her.”

“I’m sorry for putting you in this situation,” Quinn says quietly and I glance over to see her wringing her hands in her lap. 

I scoot up the bed until I’m right in front of her. I reach forward and take her hands in mine. The softness of her hands against mine immediately soothes some of my anxiety about the events of this morning.

“It’s worth it,” I respond genuinely, stroking the back of her hand with my thumb as I do so. Her eyes meet mine. “You’re worth it,” I emphasize. None of this is easy, yet it feels completely and utterly right in this moment.


	12. Chapter 12

Nothing is as easy as it seems. It definitely rings true for this new situation with Quinn. Part of it is exciting, knowing that we have this secret from the rest of the world. But mostly it’s frustrating at how careful we have to be.

I pick her up for school on Monday and I can see Mrs. Fabray clearing the breakfast dishes in the dining room so I give Quinn the mildest greeting, a quick squeeze of her hand, before I pull out of the driveway. The ride itself is nice yet tense as we adjust to this new dynamic between us. School is going to be a new adventure in and of itself, but we try to enjoy the ten minutes we have in the car away from our eavesdropping peers. 

I pull into an empty spot by the football field and turn off the car. Students are filtering into the building from all around us and I shrug knowing there’s no chance of getting a private moment together before the school day begins. Instead, I scramble out of the car and hoist my Cheerio bag up onto my shoulder. I wait for Quinn as she grabs her things and then I hit the button to lock the doors behind us before moving into the throng of students.

Brittany is standing at her locker staring into its depths like she has no idea what she needs from it. I sigh as Quinn veers off towards her locker across the hall. My locker is directly next to Britt’s so I walk up next to her and start twirling the dial on mine, entering the combination and swing it open.

“You have geometry first,” I offer as she continues to stare blankly.

“I know my schedule, Santana,” she says shortly, finally grabbing a red binder and slamming the locker door shut again. “I’ll see you in Glee.” Her voice is a little softer with her last sentence, but she’s walking away before I have an opportunity to respond.

I watch her walk in the direction of her homeroom class and I feel a horrible pang of guilt. I’ve walked her to class every morning since sixth grade. If I had to be sick, I always made sure that someone else would be there to walk with her so she wouldn’t have to do it alone. But this morning she’s flying completely solo, yet is moving with ease and confidence. Maybe I’ve underestimated her all this time.

When I turn back to my locker, I jump because there’s a blonde Cheerio leaning against the spot where Britt stood merely seconds before.

“Shit, Quinn, you scared the hell out of me,” I say, grabbing my chest to try and ease my pounding heart.

“Sorry,” she replies with an impish grin and looking anything but sorry.

I can’t remember what my first class is in order to extract my books because I feel so nervous under Quinn’s playful staring. In the end, I pick up the green notebook and toss it into my bag before closing the door again.

We walk to homeroom together and Quinn keeps her shoulders back as she strides, emitting every ounce of her head Cheerio status onto the students around us. I’ve seen her do it a million times, but it feels different to be walking beside her and wanting to grab her hand and having my pinky dangling, rejected, by my side. She winks at me as she moves into her classroom and I soften at her playful manner before walking the couple of feet and disappearing into my own room.

It’s second nature to head directly towards Brittany’s class as soon as the bell rings, but when I get there, she’s already gone. I hang my head at the realization, but I can’t really blame her. She needs space from me and I know I need to respect that, even though right now I just really miss the security of having my best friend next to me all the time.

I slip into history just as the late bell rings and my teacher gives me a disapproving look as I make my way to my desk in the back of the room. Quinn is sitting with a pile of flash cards in front of her, murmuring to herself. Fuck, we have a test today.

There’s no chance that I’m going to pass the test, so I just pull a pencil out of my backpack and recline in my chair as the teacher takes attendance. Quinn pulls herself away from cramming long enough to look at me with a raised eyebrow. I just shrug and continue to lead back. The teacher hands out the exam and I know I’m screwed, but I bullshit to the best of my ability, trying to remember little details that I had gone over with Quinn last week. The only thing that seems to be sticking is how red her cheeks were from the cold walk over and how adorable she looked in her oversized sweatshirt. Facts about the Ottoman Empire just didn’t seem important compared to studying Quinn.

Quinn is still scribbling away when the teacher calls time and I glance over at her test. Every inch of white paper is completely covered in her graceful cursive letters. She aced this test just like she has aced every single one before it. The bell rings and I wait for her to pack her things so we can walk together.

“Did you not study?” she asked as we headed in the direction of her AP English class. 

“It might have slipped my mind,” I mumble, embarrassed that I let everything get to me so much that I had just completely bombed a test. My parents were going to kill me.

“San, I’m sorry. It’s my fault for putting all this pressure on you.” Her tone is worried and I immediately hate myself for letting her think that this could possibly be her fault.

“You’re not in charge of making sure I study, Q. It’s my own fault for not being on top of my work.”

I really didn’t want to have this conversation with her. It was bad enough that she already knew that I flunked the exam; I didn’t need her feeling responsible too.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” I say, leaving her at the door of her classroom and continuing onto my own.

Quinn texted me that she was going to study in the library over lunch and I didn’t feel like being around overachieving Quinn right now. I couldn’t go to the cafeteria without her because it would be awkward to sit with just Britt and the guys and there was no way in hell that I was going to sit with the Glee dorks. 

So I decide to head towards the gym instead. I change into some Cheerio sweats and take off for the track. By the end of lunch, my side is aching from pushing myself so hard and my breathing is shallow and painful from the cold air. Coach Sylvester stops me on my way back to the locker room.

“Looking good, Lopez. It’s nice to see that you realize that you’ve been slacking with your focus on that ridiculous singing club.” She walks away and I drag my feet into the locker room to change back into my uniform. 

Glee is next and I’ve successfully exhausted myself. Rachel is ranting about solos for the next competition with her eyes trained on Finn, who is fooling around on the drum set. Quinn is sitting in the back of the room with her nose buried in a book and I trudge up the bleachers to sit next to her. She lifts her eyes to look at me.

“Where were you during lunch?” she asks conversationally, her eyes already back on the book.

“On the track. Got a workout in on my own,” I respond simply, not offering any details about why I would choose to sweat my ass off for forty-five minutes instead of hiding behind stacks of books with her in the library.

Brittany wanders into the room looking upset about something. She glances up in the direction of Quinn and I before settling down in the second row next to Mike and Matt. I suppose this is just another repercussion from our weekend conversation.

Quinn doesn’t seem to notice as she’s way too focused on whatever book she’s reading for English. I pull a file out of the side pouch of my backpack and start tackling my nails as a distraction. Everything about being in this room feels off right now and I really can’t stand it.

Mr. Schue is rambling on about his newest plan of action to make us love Glee as much as he does and I roll my eyes. Singing 80’s songs is not going to make me like this any better. Rachel is the only one that seems to really be overly excited about the week’s theme and jumps up as soon as Mr. Schue is done introducing the theme in order to address us about our musical selection choices. Quinn taps my thigh and I look over at her. She’s holding out one of her ear buds to me and I take it, sticking it in my ear and effectively drowning out the majority of Rachel’s lecture. It’s a song I haven’t heard before, but that’s pretty typical with Quinn’s choice in music. I focus my attention on its steady bass rhythm and the melodic flow of words and I fade away from the choir room altogether, lost in a little bubble with Quinn.

Practice after school is brutal on my already tired muscles, but I do everything to not let Coach or Quinn notice that I’ve overdone it. I take my sprints as hard as every other girl and still manage to beat out most of them. My stunts are flawless and I focus on technique instead of the fact that Brittany’s hand is gripping firmly to my inner thigh as she helps toss me in the air.

I’m glad when Coach screams into her megaphone for us to hit the showers. I let the girls go in front of me as I walk slowly back to the locker room feeling the burn in every muscle. Most of them are done showering by the time I gather my caddy and walk into an empty stall, turning the water as hot as it will go. The heat feels fantastic on my tired muscles and I nearly moan audibly at the sensation.

I can hear the slapping of my teammate’s flip-flops against the tile floor as they leave the shower, talking and giggling with one another. When it seems to clear out, I start singing. It’s an old jazz song I’ve heard a million times on vinyl coming from my father’s study. My throat is raspy from all of the sprints in the freezing cold air and it gives my voice an awesome quality as I start belting.

I don’t hear the stall door open while I’m rinsing out the shampoo from my hair, my voice and the sound of the water cascading down my head drowning out the small metallic click.

“God, you’re sexy.”

I jump in surprise, nearly losing my footing on the slippery shower floor. Quinn gives a throaty chuckle. She’s wrapped in her Cheerio towel and her hair is wet and messy. She obviously just left her own shower.

“Everybody else left,” she says with a flirtatious smile. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Just sore. I overdid it today I think,” I reply, trying to focus on lathering in my conditioner.

“Well finish up so we can leave and I’ll give you a massage and help you study for the chemistry test that you probably forgot about.”

She doesn’t leave room for argument as she immediately slips back out of my shower stall and disappears towards the lockers. I rinse out my hair and wash my body as quick as I possibly can, shutting off the water as soon as the last spot of soap disappears from my body.

Quinn is fully dressed and is tying up her sneakers when I reach the lockers. She waits patiently while I dress. I’m pretty sure my t-shirt is on inside out, but it really seems unnecessary to fix it when I’m hoping that a massage means that my shirt will be coming off again in the very near future.

I look up to see Quinn looking bemused at my obvious haste. She decides not to comment and instead tosses me her sweatshirt and hoists her backpack up onto her shoulders. I pull her sweatshirt over my head and inhale the lingering remnants of her perfume. Quinn’s already halfway out of the locker room and I don’t bother to tie my shoes as I scramble behind her.

The drive to my house is charged with the promise of getting quality time after spending all day giving one another sidelong glances and avoiding touching. As soon as the car is in park in the garage, we’re both springing out of it and dashing into my house. We both yell a quick hello to my mom and Max and take off up the stairs. I don’t even notice the burn in my legs as I sprint up them right behind Quinn.

Her smile lights up the room when I turn around after closing and locking the door. I feel my insides melt at how genuinely happy she looks, how at ease she seems in my bedroom.

“How long until dinner?” she asks casually, slipping out of her shoes and climbing up onto my bed.

“Fuck if I know. Nor do I really care,” I reply, tearing my own shoes off my feet and scrambling on after her. I plop my head in her lap and I can feel my muscles finally relaxing from the torture I put them through. Her fingers dance through the wet strands of my hair, nails scraping lightly along my scalp. It’s soothing and I feel myself fading fast.

“We need to study, San,” she says softly, her voice flowing through me and lulling me even closer to sleep. She shakes her legs beneath my head lightly, trying to force me to focus.

“You have a perfect A in chemistry,” I mumble.

“And you don’t. I’m helping you study.” She reaches over the side of the bed and lugs her backpack up onto it, immediately pulling out her textbook and notes. “Go get a soda or something.” She nudges me up and I move unhappily. She’s right though, caffeine would definitely help right now.

I clomp back downstairs to get some. I pull two cans of Diet Coke from the fridge and make small talk with my mom for a couple of minutes before heading back up to study. Quinn has papers spread out over the surface of the bed now and is obviously in the middle of one of her complicated organizing schemes.

“I’ve made you a practice test, but you need to go over that pile first. You practically slept through that day of notes and then spent the twenty minutes of practice problem time throwing paper at Mike.”

I sigh and pick up the stack of papers she is pointing to. The first couple of pages are comprised of Quinn’s flawless notes, followed by the worksheets I never bothered doing. I lean back against the headboard and start reading through them, mumbling the words under my breath. Quinn is frantically writing out flashcards beside me that I know are going to be used to torture me in the very near future.

I’ve gotten through the notes and Quinn’s first round of flashcards when my mom finally calls us down for dinner. I’m grateful for the break. I yank the cards from her hand and slap them down on the nightstand before turning back to kiss her. As much as this sucks, I do appreciate the fact that she’s making me do it. Britt would’ve found a million ways to distract me from doing my homework instead.

I try to draw out dinner as long as possible, but as soon as the last bite disappears into my mouth, Quinn whisks away my plate and heads into the kitchen to deposit them in the sink. I’ve just finished chewing by the time she returns. Immediately I’m dragged back up to my bedroom to study.

We get through the remainder of the flashcards, but Quinn mixes them up and starts over. I groan loudly and press a pillow into my face. With how much we’ve crammed tonight, I’ll pull off a low B. Quinn’s not having it though; she’s determined to make me study the way I should and she tears the pillow out of my hands and tosses it to the end of the bed.

“If you get them all right on the first try, I’ll go down on you,” Quinn announces and I immediately straighten my posture. Now, that’s a compromise I can get totally get behind.

“Are you bribing me to study right now?” I ask, laughing happily. God, if she had offered this two hours ago, I’d already be an expert at chemistry.

“Whatever works. And it turns out you only have two motivators in your life: food and sex.”

She laughs lightheartedly and I join in. She’s not wrong.

I take my time with the flashcards and I only miss two of the whole deck. I’m convinced that she’s going to make me restart due to the agreement, but she lets them slide out of her hand and they fall off the edge of the bed, landing all over my floor. Her hands are on the elastic of my sweatpants and she yanks them down my legs, pulling my underwear with them.

She wastes no time in fulfilling her end of the bargain. It’s merely minutes before I’m muffling my screams into the pillow clamped over my mouth. Quinn’s climbs back up my body. She pulls at the hem of my shirt, forcing me to sit up to remove it.

“You want that massage or what?” she asks when I’m grumbling about moving. I put forth a little more effort to pull it over my head and yanking off my bra with it before rolling onto my stomach.

Quinn’s hands knead at the knots in my neck and shoulders and I groan at the mix of pleasure and pain coursing through the sore muscles. As I start to relax, Quinn starts quizzing me again and I rattle off answers without really having to think about it. By the time she works down to my hips and starts massaging my ass, I’m turned on again.

“I think you deserve a prize for being the world’s best tutor,” I taunt, flipping her off of me so that I can straddle her hips. “And there’s a bonus if I get an A tomorrow.”

~!~!~!~

“Why can’t I go out?” I yell, stomping around the kitchen in my mom’s wake as she’s making dinner.

“We already discussed this, mija. You got a D on your history exam and your father and I agree that you need to spend some time working on your studies.”

“I got an A- on my chemistry test though! I told you that the history test was just a fluke!”

“Fluke or not, you need to be more focused. I think you’re stretching yourself thin with cheerleading and glee and your friends. If you’re going to go to college, you need to start focusing now.”

“Can Quinn come over at least? She tutored me for the chem test and that obviously worked,” I plead, looking for a way to make a miserable Friday night at home a little better.

My mom turns to face me, surveying me for a second. I keep my face determined, pushing for the smallest of victories right now.

“Fine. But you work at the dining room table or in the living room and she leaves by nine.”

“Ten.”

“Don’t push me, Santana,” my mom replies sternly, turning back the stove.

“Fine, nine freaking o’clock,” I mutter under my breath and stomp back out.

I hit Quinn’s number on my speed dial and it rings twice before she picks up on the other end.

“Hello?” she says in her sexy, low voice.

“Any chance you feel like spending your Friday night tutoring me in history?”

“Is that some sort of code word?” she asks. I laugh.

“Not at all. I’m grounded tonight, but Mom said you could come over until nine as long as we study downstairs. You can say no if you’d rather go to the party. I’ll just eat a couple of pints of Ben and Jerry’s and drive my mother nuts until she gives up on grounding me.”

“I’ll come over,” Quinn responds with no hesitation. I grin widely on my end of the phone. “I need to eat dinner and then I’ll be over.”

“Awesome. See you then.”

I hang up on the phone feeling mildly better at the situation. Granted, Quinn won’t be able to bribe me with a mind-blowing orgasm to memorize the most boring crap, but at least I get to see her for a few hours.

I already have my books set up in the living room when Quinn rings the bell an hour later. I let my mom answer it and she fawns over Quinn and her perfect grades before ushering her in to help me.

“Remember, Santana, Quinn needs to leave at nine. You can drive Quinn home so she doesn’t walk in the dark by herself but I want you right back here.”

“Yes, Mom,” I drone, not looking up from the doodle I’ve started in the corner of my history notes.

I hear her heavy footsteps disappear back into the kitchen. I look up to see Quinn standing at the other end of the couch I’m lounging on. It immediately brings a smile to my face. She’s wearing Cheerio sweatpants and a plain gray sweatshirt and she’s wearing her dark-rimmed glasses. It’s so dressed down and for some reason I feel a rush of happiness that I get to see this side of Quinn. She has let her guard down and lets me see what’s underneath her hallway persona.

“So, where are were starting, Ms. Fabray?” I chide, moving my feet so that Quinn can join me on the couch. 

She slips onto the cushion farthest from me and drops her backpack at her feet, un-zippers it and extracts her own history notes. They have color-coded markers and are highlighted with notes crammed in the margins that were obviously made while she was studying. God, she was seriously the most adorable dork I had ever met.

“Focus, Santana!” she scolds, slapping my thigh and shoving the notebook into my hands.

“Why?” I whine, annoyed at having my doodling interrupted.

“Because I told your mom I’d get your history grade up and I like to prove myself. Let me see your abysmal attempt at actually taking notes.”

I pass her my notebook which has random lines copied sloppily from the board, surrounded by caricatures of pretty much every kid in our class. Quinn actually laughs out loud and tosses it back at me.

“Copy my notes over and then we’ll work from there.”

“That’s just stupid. Why can’t I just read yours? I’ll be a good girl and read every line!”

“Re-writing it will help you learn it. Just do it or I’ll tell your mom that you’re not studying so that I have to go home. But then I’ll go to the football party while you’re stuck doing homework with your mom on a Friday night.”

Quinn knows she has me. I feel like a guy with my balls in a vise. I grab a pen off of the coffee table and start transcribing Quinn’s notes into my own notebook. Quinn hums beside me as she works on her AP English essay, the clicking of her laptop keys soothing as we work. It’s been silent in the living room for an hour as we work independently, but I’m hitting the end of the notes.

“Santana, sweetie, it’s 9:15,” my mom’s voice rings out from the doorway.

“Oh, sorry, we must have gotten really into the zone,” I respond, not looking up from the end of my copying. “We’ll clean up now and I’ll take Quinn home.”

Quinn presses the save button on her document and shuts the top of her laptop. She collects her things and puts them neatly into her bag as I stack my books up on the coffee table. I lead the way through the kitchen and grab our coats off of the hooks near the garage door, helping Quinn into hers. She smiles at me gratefully.

“Here, Quinn,” my mom announces, holding out a fifty dollar bill to Quinn.

“What is this, Mrs. Lopez?” Quinn asks, eying the money with a critical eye.

“I was going to pay to get Santana a tutor and it’s not fair that you’re doing it for free. I’m sure you’re the only reason she’s doing so well in most of her classes because as smart as my little girl is, she has absolutely no concentration.”

“It’s okay, really, Mrs. Lopez. I don’t mind helping Santana for free,” Quinn responds uncomfortably. “I don’t need your money.”

“I’ll take it,” I say jokingly, trying to ease the awkwardness of the moment.

“Well, at least let me send you home with some dessert for you and your parents.”

My mom hurries into the kitchen to make up a container with some of the leftover baked goods she had made earlier.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumble, embarrassed by my mother.

“It’s fine, San. She’s just trying to be fair and sweet.”

“She wouldn’t be doing it if she knew you’re the reason I’m so distracted in class. It’s impossible to pay attention with a hot blonde directly next to me.”

My mom appears again with a huge container and I take a step back from Quinn quickly, yanking my car keys off of the their hook.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Lopez,” Quinn says sweetly, accepting the container of cookies and tarts.

“C’mon, I was supposed to have you home half an hour ago and I don’t want to piss my mom off by breaking my curfew,” I say sarcastically, opening the door into the garage.

Quinn follows me and climbs into the passenger seat of the car and I click the button to open the garage door. I climb into the car next to her and she yanks at my jacket, pulling me in for a kiss. It’s short, but I feel automatically energized at the feel of her lips.

When she moves back onto her side, I pull out and drive the short distance to her house. I park the car in the driveway for a minute.

“Thanks for giving up your Friday night to hang out with me,” I say bashfully.

“I wouldn’t have had fun without you at a party anyway. Plus, isn’t this what you do for someone you’re dating?” she asks with a giggle.

“Not if you’re dating that bonehead Finn,” I say coldly. Quinn laughs again and it warms me like the first sip of hot coffee in the morning.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, babe,” she says with a wink. I can’t wipe the smile off my face for the entire ride home.

~!~!~!~

“What do you want for Christmas?”

I pick my head up from where it’s resting on Quinn’s stomach so I can look at her face. She’s looking at me sheepishly. The holiday is only two weeks away, but to be honest I hadn’t even really thought about shopping beyond what we did on Black Friday.

“We don’t need to exchange gifts and everything, Q,” I say, plopping my head back down with a thud.

“You’re my girlfriend, secret or not. So you can tell me what you’d possibly like or I can completely surprise you. Either way, you’re going to get a Christmas present and you’re going to appreciate it.”

I know that there’s no point in arguing with Quinn when she gets an idea in her head. But now I’m freaked out because I need to come up with something to get her.

That weekend, I tell her I’m going to church with my grandmother, but I take off for the Lima mall to try and figure out what to get her. She told me that she’d just be happy with us doing something together, but I don’t want to not having anything to physically give her. The mall is so packed with moms pushing strollers and frantic dads trying to buy jewelry for their wives. I weave amongst them as I window shop. I glance at the bling in the jewelry cases, but I know it’s probably too soon for something like that. I wander up row after row of cds in the music store. I flip through posters and wander through clothing stores. My eyes fall on the bookstore. It’s a big commercial one that Quinn would probably never even go into.

I pull out my phone and Google bookstores in the area, finally finding a small secondhand store a couple of towns over. I ditch the mall empty handed and head for the bookstore.

It’s a cramped store with shelves piled high with old books. The whole place has a smell of mildew and old paper, but it’s kind of soothing. I realize that it smells like Quinn. The storekeeper is sitting at the counter reading a book and greets me warmly and asks if I could use help finding anything in particular. I tell him that I’m just looking around and he nods, turning back to the book and leaving me to my own devices.

I head for the back corner of the store and start reading the names on the bindings. Some of them are so creased that it’s hard to see the title and I pull them from the shelf and examine them. Near the end of the third shelf, I come across a copy of the The Great Gatsby. I had read the bindings on Quinn’s huge bookshelf enough times to know that she didn’t have a copy of it.

I pull the small hardcover book from the shelf. It looks ancient but it’s in pretty good condition compared to most of the books. The pages are yellowed at the edges and I flip open the front cover, hearing the binding crack a little.

There was writing on the inside of the first page, a note from a guy to his lover. It was passionate and poetic and I knew it was something that Quinn would fawn over.

I carry the book to the front counter and the old storekeeper smiles at me when he sees my selection.

“Is it for you, sweetie?” he asks as he flips it over to examine the price sticker.

“Uh, no. A friend of mine,” I say embarrassed.

“Well I hope that one day you have the guts to tell this friend how much you care about them,” he says with a wink as he puts the book into a little plastic bag. I hand him the cash and thank him before heading out of the store.

I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out what to write as my own inscription to Quinn. Every single book on her shelf has one from her grandfather and she cherishes those sentences more than anything else she owns. Crumpled paper surrounds my feet and I bang my head against my desk, willing the right words to come to me.

“You okay, mija?” My mom is standing in my doorway looking at the mess of paper surrounding me with worried eyes.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” She looks at me with concern still. “Is young love supposed to be this hard?”

It slips out before I can really think about it. Since I started high school, my mom and I had kind of grown apart. I guess it’s part of adolescence to not tell your mom everything, especially when you’re doing things you probably shouldn’t be doing. 

She walks into the room and sits down on the edge of my bed, beckoning me over. I oblige and let her wrap her arm around my shoulder. It’s instantly comforting despite the knot in my stomach. She’s going to make me talk about it.

“Is this about a boy, Santana? Or is about this something else?” Her voice is soft, prying with forcing the words out of me.

I stay quiet for a long time. It’s not about a boy. It’s pretty much the furthest thing from me being wound up about a boy. But I can’t tell my mom that it’s relationship issues with a girl. This is Lima. My mom was born and raised here. I choose to just not answer and let her hold me.

“Is this about Quinn?”

It instantly feels like my lungs stop working. I’m struggling to get oxygen, my throat is constricted, and I’m definitely about to have a panic attack.

“W-what?” I squeak, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

“I’ve seen how you look at her, mija. You look at her like your father looks at me.”

“But I-I’m not gay.” It’s denial at its absolute strongest. I love Quinn, but I’m not gay. I can’t be gay. I can’t shame my family like this.

“I don’t care what you are. You are my daughter and I’ll always love you for that reason alone.” She leans over and kisses my forehead and squeezes me tightly. “I’m here if you want to talk about it,” she adds gently, before getting up and walking towards the door.

I break down as soon as my mom closes my bedroom door behind her. I climb under my comforter and allow myself to just cry. In all actuality, I have no idea why I’m crying. My mom pretty much just pushed me out of the closet by telling me that she loves me no matter what. It’s a million times better than anything I could have expected. But I’m not ready. I’m not ready for the implications of all of this.

My mom knocks on my door and it wakes me up. All of the crying must have exhausted me completely. It’s dark outside my window.

“I brought you up some dinner. I told your father that you’re not feeling well.”

She sits on the edge of the bed and holds the tray of food. My stomach growls at the smell of her enchiladas. I force myself to sit up against the headboard and she places the tray across my lap.

“I’m sorry for forcing you to talk earlier. You shouldn’t have to tell me about what’s going on with you until you’ve made sense of it for yourself. I won’t bring it up again.”

“I love her, mom.” The tears start falling again.

“I know you do, sweetie,” she responds, her fingers stroking my hair soothingly. 

“I’m so sorry,” I sob, the words stuffy coming from my tear-choked throat.

“Oh, Santana,” she says, moving the tray and pulls me into her lap. I instantly feel four years old again.

We sit there like that until my sobs finally ease back into sniffles. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much in one day.

“We don’t have to tell your father yet. This will just be our secret until you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I love you, my little Santanita.” I give her a watery smile at my childhood nickname.

“Love you too, Mami.”

~!~!~!~

We wait until the morning of Christmas Eve to exchange presents. I’ll have to leave for festivities at my aunt’s in a little while and Quinn is having her family over, but we’re able to escape for a couple of hours in the morning. We stop and get coffee at the Lima Bean and then drive to the park. It snowed a couple of days ago and everything is a hideous gray color, but my eyes are focused on her in the passenger seat. She’s fingering the ribbons of my present and she smiles at me as she gives it to me. I pull her present from the backseat and plop it into her lap.

“You go first,” she says, her hazel eyes meeting mine. I shrug and don’t argue with her.

I peel back the paper carefully, trying to act like a mature adult instead of a little kid. She is eying me nervousness, silently pushing me to move faster.

I lift the top on the box to reveal a bunch of smaller items wrapped in tissue paper. I open them one by one. I unearth a box of fancy colored pencils, a box of regular pencils in different sizes, a book on drawing caricatures, and finally a sketchpad.

“Open the cover,” she says quietly, her eyes trained on me as I do so.

Because I love all of your sides, including the one that draws fantastically accurate cartoons of our classmates. Love, Quinn

“Thanks, Q,” I say genuinely. It’s thoughtful and small and perfect. I glance around quickly before leaning in and giving her a peck on the lips. “Your turn.”

She tears one end of the wrapping paper and slides out the book. Her eyes light up at the sight and the knots grow in my stomach knowing she’s about to read the words I wrote inside the cover.

“I love this book,” she says softly, running her fingers along its spine. “This is used.”

“I know you like the old books best,” I respond sheepishly.

She flips open the cover and I watch as she reads the old inscription, smiling wistfully. Then her eyes shift to the bottom of the page where my own words are inked in my neatest handwriting.

Christmas 2010  
Lucy Quinn Fabray,

I know that books are sort of a thing between you and your Grandpa, but I want to be there to share all of your special traditions. This book is the first step to embracing all of you and of learning about your past, present, and future. One day, I want you to be reading the romance novel that you wrote that was born from all of the epic ones you read in your own youth; the ones that inspired you to love with every fiber of your being. Books are such a huge part of who you are and who you’ll become and I want to be on that ride with you. I love you, Quinn.

Love,  
Santana

“This is the best thing anybody has ever given me,” she whispers, a tear leaking out of the corner of her eye. She lets it slide down her cheek as she rereads my inscription. I know that it’s not just about the book but the words I added to it, the words I mean from the very depths of my heart. “I love you too, Santana.”

~!~!~!~

“I don’t recall giving you The Great Gatsby,” Grandpa Joe says as he walks slowly across the room to join me on the sofa. The rest of the family is in the front living room with eggnog, but I wanted to read by the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree in the den.

“A friend bought it for me for Christmas,” I say quickly, glancing up from the yellowed pages.

“This person must know you well, my Lucy,” he says wisely, giving me a knowing look. I try to not cower under it.

“She does,” I say simply, busying myself with marking my page with my bookmark.

“Don’t let her slip away, Lucy. You deserve to have someone that understands everything that makes you special.”

I don’t respond, having no idea if Grandpa Joe is referring to Santana as a close friend of mine or more than that. I’m not really sure what to do with his statement.

“I didn’t give you my present yet,” he says, reaching into his coat and pulling out a small, square package. I know that it’s a book already, but I still get excited like I always do.

I tear off the paper and unearth the book. It’s older than most of my collection; the binding is taped back together and the pages are on the verge of crumbling into dust. I flip it over in order to see the title on the cover. Jane Eyre.

“It’s the first book I ever bought for your grandmother,” he adds.

I immediately flip open the front cover to reveal two separate inscriptions written in identical handwriting.

My dearest Emeline,  
May our love always withstand all the tribulations of life. I wish for all of your dreams to come true and that I can be beside you through them all. Have a wonderful birthday, my darling.  
Love always, your Joseph

“She would have loved you, Lucy,” he says with a sad smile. “You remind me so much of my Emeline when she was young.”

I give him a gentle smile and let him reminisce silently while turning my attention back to the book.

Lucy,  
Let yourself love to epic proportions. Let yourself fall and let someone prove that they will catch you. Chase your heart’s desires no matter what obstacles seem to stand in your way. I pray you find the kind of love I shared with your grandmother. My time with her was the most cherished time of my life and you deserve to experience true love. It’s the best thing life can ever offer you.  
Love always, Grandpa Joe

“Thank you so much, Grandpa,” I whisper, my tears filling with tears. Grandpa rarely talks about Grandma, who died right before I was born. I know that him giving me this piece of their past together was huge.

“Anything for you, my Lucy,” he says quietly and beckons me closer. I let him embrace me tightly, feeling secure in his strong arms.

My mom calls us through for dessert and we break apart. I see the glisten of tears in Grandpa Joe’s eyes. He gives me a smile and pats my arm before hoisting himself up from the couch and heading back towards the dining room.

Frannie is practically in the lap of her boyfriend, who is way too similar to my own dad for comfort. My mom is doting upon them and my aunts and uncles are asking them about college. I follow Grandpa Joe to the far end of the table. I appease him by taking a slice of pie and agreeing to a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Seeing him beam at me with that proud smile makes the extra calories worth it. Plus, I’ll be back to running in two days anyway.

I get a few minutes with Grandpa Joe before my dad drives him home. He pulls me aside as he pulls his winter jacket on. I hug him tightly, inhaling his distinct scent. I feel him press a wad of cash into my palm as we break apart.

“Grandpa, I can’t take this,” I respond, looking down at the five one hundred dollar bills in my hand.

“Do something special with your friend,” he says with a wink, obviously not taking no as an answer. In that moment, I feel transparent, like Grandpa Joe knows that Santana is more than just my friend. He winks at me and smiles genuinely. “I love you so much, my little Lucy.”

“Love you too, Gramps,” I say, letting him kiss my forehead.

As the door closes behind him and my dad, I flip back to what Santana wrote in my book. I hope one day I can introduce Grandpa to her and he can see that she’s as special to me as Grandma was to him. One day.


	13. Chapter 13

Sneaking around isn’t fun at all. It was different with Britt; we challenged ourselves to have sex pretty much everywhere possible without getting caught. Things with Quinn are so much different. At most, we’ll sneak a forbidden kiss in a deserted bathroom or in the locker room after our teammates have left. It is almost like we leave our relationship in my car when we head into school, waiting to pick it back up in the confines of my bedroom at the end of the day. At least with Britt I had the security of knowing I could hold onto her pinky whenever I had the urge to feel her skin against my own. Quinn and I maintain a professional distance at all times and it’s growing old very fast.

Quinn has to have dinner with her family on Thursday by her mom’s request since she’s practically never home anymore, so I drop her off at her house before continuing to my own alone.

My mom asks where Quinn is and I shrug before plopping myself at a stool at the island. I’m moping and kind of miserable just for the fact that I have to work on my homework alone for once.

“What’s really bothering you, Santanita?” Mom asks, lifting her head from her grocery list.

“I’m just sick of Lima,” I grumble, knowing full well that I’m acting like a petulant child.

“You have hardly more than two years left of high school and then you can go to college far, far away if you want,” she responds with a tone of finality.

I drop it just because I don’t feel like talking about my situation with Quinn. It’s awkward enough knowing that my mom knows that I like her, but I really have no interest in getting lesbian relationship advice from my mother. Thankfully Max gets home from school at that moment and my mom jumps up to get his snack ready.

Brittany instant messages me almost as soon as I open my laptop. It’s been forever since I just messed around online because Quinn always forces me to get my work done and then I end up hanging out with her afterwards. I’m surprised considering we’ve hardly even spoken in weeks. It’s been almost three months since our talk on the bench. Besides our contact at glee and cheerleading, our friendship has been completely nonexistent. 

I can’t ignore her, but I really have no idea if talking to her like this is a good idea. But I respond and she answers me immediately and we talk about practically nothing for the next twenty-five minutes. I’m about to come up with an excuse to leave and avoid the awkwardness when she asks me if we can hang out sometime soon. I chew my lip in contemplation, deciding if this is really a good idea. In the end, I say yes because I simply can’t allow myself to let her down. I told her we’d still be friends and friends are allowed to spend time together.

I tell Quinn about hanging out with Britt on the way to school the next way and she acts completely normal. I don’t know what I was really expecting, but I just shrug and drop it.

Brittany comes over early on Sunday morning with a box of donuts. My parents have left for church, but Max slips through the kitchen to steal a jelly one before settling in on the couch to watch cartoons. We sit at the counter together and I switch between chewing on my blueberry cake donut and drinking my coffee. Brittany hums as she eats like always and there’s something comforting about knowing that not everything has changed in the past couple of months.

Once we clean up in the kitchen, we head up to my bedroom. Brittany looks around anxiously before deciding to sit on the floor. I’ve never seen her look so uncomfortable in my room, especially knowing that she’s spent thousands of hours hanging out in here in the past. I don’t know if it’s rude if I lounge on my bed, so I pull a pillow from my bed and lay on the floor with some space between us.

Usually Britt would be spitting out a million ideas of what we could be doing, but today she’s just hugging her knees and glancing around. Finally the silence gets to me.

“So, uh, what do you feel like doing today?” I ask lamely.

“It doesn’t matter,” she responds immediately, not looking in my direction.

I get up and walk over to my vanity, pulling open the drawers until I find my box of manicure supplies. It’s a task that will keep us busy but it’s not completely antisocial. I hit play on my iPod as I walk past, giving us reprieve from the silence that has been filling the room. Britt smiles mildly at me as I place the bottles of nail polish between us on the floor. They’re all obnoxiously bright and are definitely all colors that Brittany had convinced me to buy on random occasions. 

She picks neon green for herself and I choose the purple even though I’ll probably take it off again before school tomorrow anyway. Brittany picks up her humming again, this time along with the music I’ve put on in the background. There should be plenty to catch up on considering we haven’t spent much time together in months. I don’t even remember what we used to talk about when had been just friends; it has been so long since we were in that situation. I guess we still talked even once we started hooking up but all that time seems like such a blur.

“So how are things with you and Quinn?” she asks nonchalantly, not bothering to look up from where the toenail she’s painting.

“They are fine,” I say, trying to nip this conversation in the bud. The last thing I want to discuss with Brittany is how things are going with Quinn.

“You two hardly even go near one another in school,” Brittany states. She’s not wrong; we don’t link hands or anything like Brittany always did. Most of the time we don’t even walk to class together even though we’re often going to the same place. Quinn likes to keep our relationship pretty separate from our public life at school.

“Are you questioning how serious our relationship is?” I snap through gritted teeth. I can feel my temper rising, but I’m trying to not lose it without giving Brittany a chance to explain. Sometimes her intentions are a lot better than what her words express.

“It’s just kind of weird,” she comments, picking up a file and working on buffing one of her fingernails before she starts to paint it. “You say you like her enough to stop hooking up with both me and Puck but you two still act like you’re not even friends.”

I know Brittany is right in her observations, but it doesn’t make me any less angry.

“You don’t know anything about our relationship,” I say, my tone biting.

Brittany doesn’t respond but instead finishes off the first coat on the rest of her nails. I know that she is trying to avoid confrontation; Brittany hates arguing with anybody but she typically does everything in her power to avoid it with me. She also usually knows what to say to cool my temper, but right now she’s fueling it instead. Our whole dynamic is way off kilter.

I finish my nails before Brittany and I reach over and grab my cell phone off of the charger by my bed. I have a couple of texts from Quinn that I must have missed before she went to church this morning. 

It takes me a while to notice that Brittany is staring at me. I look up from my phone, the smile formed by Quinn’s last text still lighting up my face. Brittany looks crestfallen and I feel a little bad that I’ve been ignoring her.

I don’t know what to say to her, so I just bite my lip and eye her up. She looks even thinner than the last time I noticed, but it’s been a while since I’ve really looked at Britt. Her summer freckles have faded and her hair has gotten longer. We usually go together to get haircuts, but it looks like she’s skipped the trip altogether judging by how the ends of her hair are curling halfway down her back. But what really gets to me is how her blue eyes don’t seem to sparkle anymore.

My phone buzzes in my lap with Quinn’s response and I automatically glance back down on it. I miss the hurt that flashes across Brittany’s face at my lack of interest in spending time with just her.

“Ya know, I have a lot of homework to get done today. I think I’m gonna go.” Her voice sounds normal, but I know that there’s a huge disconnect between us right now. Brittany rarely does homework and when she did, it was usually just that she copied it off of someone before class or I did it for her. But I don’t argue because I don’t know what to say to convince her to stay. This hasn’t exactly been the most fun of mornings.

“Alright, I’ll walk you down,” I respond, but she shakes her head.

“I know my way out,” she replies quickly. “I’ll see you in glee tomorrow.” Before I have time to respond, I can hear her heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Once she leaves, I keep texting Quinn, informing her that Britt has already left. We make plans to hang out later. For once, we don’t have a test on Monday so she might even let me relax.

There’s a knock on my door and I shout that they can enter. My mom peeks her head in and smiles at me before walking in and closing the door behind her. I don’t know what this about, but I toss my cell phone up on my bed and give her my attention.

“Any reason why your best friend just left here in tears?” she asks, her voice full of concern.

“I’m not really sure what happened,” I admit, picking at my still drying nail polish. The purple looks horrible on me anyway.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen Brittany around here in a while. Have you girls had a fight?”

“Nah, nothing like that,” I respond quickly. I don’t know how to explain the situation to my mom.

“This has to do with whatever is going on between you and Quinn.” It’s not a question. It’s creepy that she knows what’s going on without me ever having to tell her. “She probably misses you, Santana. Brittany has been the top person in your life for a very long time and it’s not okay for you to just cast that to the side because you’re dating someone now.”

I know my mom is right, but it’s so much more complicated than that. Brittany has been my best friend since we were in elementary school, which is years beyond when things went further.

I shrug, not knowing what to say to her. My mom is always right so it’s not like I’m in any position to argue with her about it. She walks over and grabs my hand, using her other hand to force my chin up to look at her.

“You’re better than this, Santana. You’ve always been such a good friend and I don’t want you to lose her because you’re too starry-eyed to notice that she’s hurting.”

She pats my cheek lightly and I can feel her disappointment hit my stomach like lead. I’ve got to make it up to Britt somehow.

On Friday night, Puck hosts a glee club party. It’s guaranteed to be a complete train wreck, but Quinn and I trade in our Cheerio uniforms for real clothes and we let our hair out of tight ponytails. There’s something nice about knowing it’s just a function with the glee kids because there’s no reason for us to get really dressed up to impress upperclassmen. I settle on a pair of jeans and a loose fitting blouse with a pair of heeled boots and I talk Quinn into wearing jeans and a blazer. It’s casual, but she looks sophisticated and her ass just looks absolutely amazing when she wears jeans.

I’m driving tonight, so we don’t pregame but we still make a point of showing up a little late. I wouldn’t want to look overly excited to be showing up at a glee club function. All of the glee club is there already (which isn’t surprising considering we’re an hour late) and Quinn makes a beeline for the stash of liquor bottles scattered on Puck’s kitchen counter.

I wander through the house and into the living room, where the majority of people are hanging out. Brittany is sitting on the couch looking bored at her conversation with Tina and Mike. She looks up for a second and catches my eye before immediately looking away.

The next couple of hours progress much the same. Brittany will hardly look at both Quinn and I. Quinn, along with pretty much everybody else, proceeds to get increasingly smashed. I drink my Diet Coke and curse myself for agreeing to be the designated driver.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brittany straddling an all-too-familiar boy. There’s a dark mohawk sticking up from by where Noah Puckerman’s mouth is attached to her neck. It takes all of my effort to not stop this in its tracks, but it’s Brittany’s own business if she wants to make out with Puck. It’s not the first time and I doubt it’ll be the last.

I sit next to Quinn as she plays Quarters with Finn, Mike, and Matt. My attention is split between how adorable she is when she makes a shot and watching Brittany and Puck getting increasingly handsy on his mother’s LA-Z Boy recliner. Quinn hits a shot that knocks out Mike and she jumps up in delight, fist pumping at the ceiling. It’s in that moment that Puck pulls Brittany up from the chair and starts leading her down the hallway to his bedroom.

I’m moving before I even have time to think about what I’m doing. The hallway is dark and Brittany has lost her shirt on the short walk towards Puck’s room. I pull her out of Puck’s grip and shove her behind me.

“Seriously, Puckerman?” I seethe, giving him my best Lima Heights glare without even needing to try.

Puck just shrugs and gives me an impish smirk. I don’t even have to tear into him because he turns on the spot and walks back towards his guests without a word.

“What the fuck, Santana?” My eyes are trained on Puck’s retreating back that I have completely forgotten that Brittany is standing behind me. I spin around and I’m greeted with a furious looking Brittany Pierce.

“He doesn’t care about you,” I mumble, not sure how to justify my action of successfully cock-blocking Puck.

“How is it any of your business?” she says angrily, her face growing red.

“I obviously care about you, B,” I say softly, looking straight into her eyes.

“Yeah, well you have a really funny way of showing it!” she yells at me. Brittany never loses her temper and I’m caught really off guard by it.

“What’s going on?” I look over my shoulder to see Quinn standing there surveying the situation.

Brittany sighs loudly enough for me to hear and I catch her rolling her eyes at Quinn’s sudden involvement. Quinn walks up to my side and looks at Brittany who is obviously irate and is still partially undressed.

“Why don’t you two leave and hash things out? Everybody is in full gossip mode here,” Quinn whispers in my ear. 

“What are you saying to her?” Brittany lashes at Quinn.

“C’mon, B. Let’s get out of here and you and I can talk,” I coax, gesturing down the hallway. She seems unconvinced but doesn’t seem to see any other options right now. She stomps past me and grabs her jacket off the coat rack by the front door before heading out the door. I follow in her wake, pulling on my own Cheerio jacket and feeling around for my keys.

“Sorry,” I mumble to Quinn, who followed me to the door.

“Just get her home safely and don’t worry about me. Text me later.” I nod and bite my lip to resist kissing her goodbye before heading out in the cold after Brittany.

She’s standing at the passenger side of my car and as soon as I click the unlock button, she climbs in and buckles her seatbelt. The entire ride to her house is in complete silence. She stares straight ahead at the dark road with a serious expression. Her hands are buried in the pockets of her letterman jacket even though I have the heat blasting in the car. She’s completely shut off from me.

When I pull up to the curb in front of her house, I kill the engine. For the first time since she stormed past me in the hallway, she turns to look at me.

“Can I come in?” I ask softly. Going to my angry is the easiest way to push Brittany away, so I try my best to stay as calm as possible.

“I guess so,” Brittany responds, turning her attention to her feet instead of looking at me.

She struggles with getting the key in the lock and it’s the first time since she started stumbling away with Puck that I realize how drunk she actually is. I stand patiently to the side and let her deal with it on her own. This seems to have been the right decision because a minute later she opens the door and beckons me in without a glare.

I follow her to her bedroom, weaving around the dining room table and the couches like I’ve done a million times in my life. I’ve spent nearly as much time at Brittany’s house as I have my own home. Brittany doesn’t even look behind her to check if I’m still there.

She flips on the light in her bedroom and I close the door quietly behind us. Her room hasn’t changed at all in the few months that have passed since I was last here. It makes me want to smile that part of Brittany is still so familiar and predictable.

Brittany grabs her pajamas from her bottom drawer and looks at me pointedly. I take the hint and turn my back so she can change without me looking. It’s a little weird considering the amount of time I’ve seen her naked between writhing in between the sheets and in the Cheerio locker room, but I know that I need to do things on Brittany’s terms if I’m going to fix whatever is going on between us.

She coughs to signal that she’s done and I turn back around. Brittany is wearing her favorite flannel rubber duck pajama pants and an old t-shirt from a family vacation to Lake Superior. It’s a shirt I’ve borrowed during many spontaneous sleepovers. Everything about being here has an air of awkwardness despite the fact that it’s all so achingly familiar.

“Why did you want to come in?” she asks shortly. It’s not in an angry tone like when we were at Puck’s but it’s still not what I’m used to from typically calm Brittany.

“I need to apologize,” I say sheepishly.

“You could’ve done that at Puck’s,” she states. My cheeks redden at her blunt statement.

“Not just for what I did to you tonight. I should’ve paid you more attention when you came over last weekend,” I say quickly, avoiding her eyes.

“You know, all of this is really unfair,” she replies, her voice even but I know from years of experience that she’s upset. “I didn’t do anything but love you despite all of your flaws. But you’ve hooked up with everybody else under the sun, you’ve used me repeatedly, you’ve denied feelings for me repeatedly because your reputation has always been more important to you than me. And I thought it was just that you were scared so I let you because you were my best friend and I loved you more than anything. Then all of a sudden you choose Quinn over me and to make it worse you don’t even really try to stay friends with me. It all hurts, Santana.”

I feel like I’ve just been hit over the head with an avalanche of bricks. From the moment I kissed Quinn, I knew there was something special about our connection that went deeper than anything I had with Brittany. But it was never that I didn’t care about Brittany. She had been my closest friend and hugest supporter for years and I had ignored all of that while I was focusing solely on finding a way to be with Quinn. Brittany was right and my mom was right: I let my relationship with Brittany fall to the wayside as I was chasing the girl I wanted to date.

“Britt…” I start. What words are there to correct hurting the most important person in your life?

“I really don’t want to hear your excuses, Santana. I’m tired of excuses and meaningless words.”

“Britt, I miss you. I miss having my best friend around and goofing around. I miss going to the lake to feed the ducks and driving Max crazy with you and playing board games with your family after dinner on Sundays.”

“Then why haven’t you done any of those things in over three months? I’ve been here waiting for you to be the best friend I’ve needed. I meant it when I told you that I think you and Quinn are good together, but I didn’t know that meant that you don’t have room for me anymore.”

I look up to see the unshed tears dangling in the corners of Britt’s eyes. There’s never been anything worse in my life than having Britt cry.

“Britt-Britt,” I say softly, moving closer to her. She lifts her gaze from her feet to look at me. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been a terrible friend lately and I want to make it up to you.”

She looks at me with those huge blue eyes. I know she wants to instantly forgive me because it’s her nature to give everybody a second chance. How many second chances have I used over the years? She’s always forgiven me, whether it was for taking my anger out on her or running away from my feelings for her into the arms (and bed) of Puck. I haven’t done anything to really deserve her forgiveness this time. Yet looking at her, I know she wants to grant it to me. She knows I’m a screw up and even though she’s doubting it, somewhere underneath she knows I’ll always care about her. 

“I miss you too,” she whispers. It feels like her words echo through the quiet room. I know it’s only probational forgiveness but it’s more than I probably deserve at this point.

I open my arms and she falls into them like she’s been dying to have this connection back. Everything about it is familiar and I’m comforted that there’s a chance for us to fix this friendship.

“I should get going, but maybe we can hang out tomorrow?” I ask as I pull away from her again.

She nods and walks me to her bedroom door.

“Night, San.”

“Night, B. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~*~*~

I’ve seen a lot less of Santana since I made her take Britt home from Puck’s a few weeks ago. She still picks me up for school every morning and I see her in almost every class. But outside of school, our time together has been cut down. Sunday nights have gone back to being time with Brittany’s family and random nights during the week the two of them hang out alone. Part of me feels like it’s my fault that Santana is slipping back into a pattern of spending her free time with Brittany. We had gotten to the point where the majority of our time together involved me hounding her about her grades and making her study. Brittany has always been the laidback one, caring more about having fun than about getting decent grades. In all honesty, I’m not even sure she’d be passing a single class if it weren’t for Coach Sylvester blackmailing all of our teachers so that the Cheerios’ grades are high enough for academic eligibility.

But it’s a Thursday and Santana drops me off in my driveway on her way to meet up with Brittany. Before, we used to spend time with all three of us on random weekday afternoons and during the lazy hours during the day on weekends. Now it’s turned into time for only Santana and Brittany; she hasn’t invited me to come along even once.

On Friday, I catch a glimpse of Brittany walking by herself to homeroom and I jog to catch up to her. She looks surprised to see me and I see her grip tighten on her binder like I’m going to be mean.

I chose the complete opposite approach knowing that yelling doesn’t get you anywhere with someone like Brittany. Instead, I plaster on my fake smile and act extra sweet.

“Hey, B! It’s been a long time since we hung out. Don’t you think we should all do something together for old time’s sake?” I say, my teeth nearly aching from the sweetness I’m spewing out right now.

Brittany’s face lights up immediately like she’s been waiting for this moment. Maybe it is Santana’s fault that I haven’t been invited because Brittany seems excited by the prospect of us all hanging out as a trio again.

“We should have a slumber party!” she replies excitedly. Her enthusiasm is contagious and I know this is my way to see how things are between my girlfriend and her former hookup.

“That sounds great, B! My parents are going out of town for the weekend, so why don’t you girls come stay at my place tomorrow night?”

Brittany readily agrees and skips ahead towards her homeroom happily.

Santana doesn’t seem as pleased at the prospect of the three of us hanging out tomorrow. It’s not that she protests, but ever since I slid her a note about it, she’s been even more distant. 

“Are you mad at me?” I ask as Santana pulls out of her parking spot after Cheerio practice. She turns slightly to look at me in her peripheral vision.

“Of course not,” she says rather cryptically. I don’t know why I thought Santana would offer any information about her feelings because she only does that when she’s backed into a corner.

“Fine,” I respond curtly, deciding it’s just not worth fighting about tonight.

“Are you coming over tonight?” she asks, changing the subject.

“Do you want me to?” I retort.

“Yeah, of course I do.” She sounds defensive. I know I’m basically on the verge of picking a fight for no real reason so I don’t bother bringing up the fact that it’s a valid question since I don’t know which nights are mine and which are reserved for Brittany anymore.

Santana drops me off at my house so that I can see my parents before they leave. My dad has a business trip in Chicago and my mom is going with him. They don’t seem too concerned about leaving their teenage daughter alone for the whole weekend and as soon as they have pulled out of the driveway, I’m on my way to Santana’s house.

Mrs. Lopez lets me and gives me a warm smile. Ever since Santana mentioned that her mom somehow figured out that we’re kind of dating, Mrs. Lopez always seems to give me a knowing smile when I enter. I stop and talk to her for a couple of minutes and she asks me about school and cheerleading. It’s a nice change from my parents who hardly even notice when I’m around.

I find Santana in the living room playing Xbox with Max. She’s muttering in Spanish under her breath and the clicking of the buttons from the controller in her hands sounds frantic.

“Damn it!” she yells when something on the screen explodes. She slams the controller down on the coffee table in anger while Max whoops, obviously celebrating his victory.

“Language, Santana!” Mrs. Lopez calls through from the kitchen, causing Max and I both to giggle.

“We’ll have a rematch later and I’ll kick your ass, Squirt,” she threatens to Max. He just sticks his tongue out at her and sets the game up to play again. Santana grabs my arm and points in the direction of the basement door.

Santana flits around, straightening couch cushions and picking up scattered magazines. She’s got a bunch of nervous energy and I just watch her, not sure how to react. Eventually she looks at me with a small smile. Some of the tension in the room eases. I flop down on the couch and she joins me.

I’m surprised at how fast she moves, sliding across my lap so that she’s straddling my thighs. Her hair is still pulled back in her Cheerio ponytail even though she has changed out of her uniform. It feels like it’s been forever since we’ve been this intimate. I know it really hasn’t been that long, but spending the whole day refraining from reaching out to grab her hand makes it seem that way.

She’s biting her lip like she wants to say something but doesn’t know how to. I don’t push her knowing that it probably has something to do with this sleepover tomorrow night. I want to have my Friday night just focusing on getting to alone with her rather than fighting about the fact that I invited Brittany to hang out with us so that I wouldn’t have to worry about the two of them doing something without me again.

Santana leans forward, releasing her lip from between her teeth and pressing again my own mouth instead. She’s warm and my entire body immediately tingles under her possessive kiss. It’s aggressive and passionate like she’s trying to convey a message without having to actual put it into words. I answer her with reassuring touches, my tongue sliding along her lower lip and my fingers stroke the exposed skin of her hips. It urges Santana on and she pulls the hair band out of my hair and lets my hair fall loose. Fingers are immediately threaded through it, holding my face against her. She tugs slightly, causing a mix of mild pain and a lot of pleasure when her other hand strokes along my chest, finding my nipple through my shirt.

“Should we be doing this down here?” I ask against her mouth. Santana answers by sliding her hand underneath my shirt and up my stomach before reaching behind me to expertly unclasp my bra.

The feel of her deftly moving fingers makes me forget that we’re in her basement without a lock on the door while her whole family is home. She makes me stop worrying about the state of her newly rebuilt friendship with Brittany with a simple pinch of my nipple between her thumb and forefinger. 

Every touch and kiss is needy; I push her sports bra up under her shirt and tug on stiff nipples, causing her to moan softly as she nips at my neck. She pops the button of my jeans and yanks the zipper down, giving her just enough space to slide her hand down into my panties. I gasp at the feel of her fingers pressing against my core. She slides through wetness, circling my clit. I bite down harshly on my lip to keep myself quiet as she works her fingers against me. Santana’s teeth nip at my collarbone and leave marks along the base of my neck.

The connection between us is always better when we’re not talking. Santana knows how to show me how much she cares without ever speaking her emotions out loud. Thankfully, I don’t need more affirmation than this. 

It doesn’t take long before my back is arching and my muscles are clenching. She moves her fingers as fast as she can despite the constricting nature of my jeans and I cant my hips to let her hit my clit at a better angle. A few more circles and I’m thrashing beneath her. She keeps going until I literally grab her hand to stop her movements because I’m way too sensitive.

I finally open my eyes to see her smiling giddily down at me. The spell and broken and the tension has left between us. She slides to the side so that she’s sitting next to me, but she leaves her legs resting across my lap. I let my fingers stroke the smooth lines of her calves, admiring every inch of her perfect body. I have to work so hard to look the way I do, but Santana makes it seem effortless. She could eat crates of breadsticks and gallons of ice cream and never has to worry about gaining a couple of pounds because her metabolism simply doesn’t allow it. I can’t help but admire what comes so naturally to her that I had struggled so hard to achieve and it makes me wonder what she looked like in middle school. I’m sure she wasn’t awkward in the way I was, but everybody at that age doesn’t seem to fit into his or her own skin yet. Santana would be the exception: the girl with flawless skin and naturally straight teeth.

We spend the entire night cuddled up together mostly watching movies and not really talking. I’m grateful when she asks me if I want to spend the night because don’t want to be in my own house alone. I spoon Santana in her bed and hold her against me, feeling her chest expand and collapse with each breath. I focus on her little quirks of curling the blanket up to her chin even though her parents have cranked up the heat and how she nuzzles her head down into the bottom corner of her pillow. It’s all things I’ve become familiar with as our relationship has grown, but as she dozes off, I feel extra grateful that at some level things are still really simple. We’re still two high school girls dealing with our morals, but we’re also discovering the amazing things that love has to offer us. And when it’s just us hidden away from the world, everything seems to fit perfectly.

I spend Saturday after Cheerios practice getting my homework done and preparing for the sleepover. For an hour before they’re supposed to arrive, I debate how we should work sleeping arrangements. In the end, I just decide it’d be easier if we slept in the living room on the couches rather than awkwardly in my bedroom.

Santana shows up first with a bag full of liquor and a few bags of chips. I’ve already ordered the pizza and the delivery boy shows up just as Brittany is walking up the driveway. I pay him with the cash my parents had left for me and we eat on the floor in the living room. Santana pours us all huge tumblers of rum with a splash of coke and I can feel it going to my head before I even finish eating.

Brittany is chattering incessantly between her bites of pizza and I find that I’m not really paying attention to what she’s saying, but more focusing on the fact that she’s only really talking to Santana. Every time Santana laughs at something she says, Brittany manages to find a way to touch her, whether it’s grazing her arm or squeezing her fingers or reaching up to push Santana’s face from her hair. It’s all I notice and I find myself dreading every word out of her mouth that Santana finds amusing because it means another unnecessary gesture towards my girlfriend.

I compensate by drinking and forcing the other two to keep up with me. Santana doesn’t protest and she’s always been better at holding her liquor than me anyway. Brittany doesn’t seem as happy about the prospect of getting drunk with us, but she does so anyway, taking long gulps from her glass as we talk.

It’s not Santana who cries first once we’re drunk. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Brittany cry and I’m utterly confused as to what has brought upon this particular displays of waterworks. When Santana’s drunk even a wrinkle in her dress can cause her to start sobbing, but Brittany is always the fun drunk who is dancing around a party and brings everybody else’s moods up. Her eyes are red and swollen as the tears fall down her cheeks like this isn’t the first time she’s cried recently.

Santana immediately moves over to put her arm around Brittany and I scowl instinctively. But instead of releasing the sharp words that threaten to spill out, I keep my mouth busy by taking a few huge gulps from my rum and coke. I watch them intently while trying to fade to the background. Santana strokes her hair gently but turns to look at me with concern painted across her features. I shrug, not knowing what I’m supposed to be doing in this seemingly intimate moment between best friends. It’s the first time since the beginning of our friendship that I feel left out being in the same room as them.

I make up a lame excuse about needing to use the bathroom and I leave the living room. Once I’m out of the room, I figure I might as well do what I said I was, so I stumble towards the guest bathroom on the first floor. It’s pristinely cleaned which is evidence that the maid was here yesterday like she is every Friday afternoon. I slide down the wall onto the floor of the bathroom, feeling the cold tiles through my clothing. They cool my burning skin and I let my head fall into my hands. 

I know there’s nothing to really be jealous of. Santana gave up hooking up with Brittany for the sole reason of making things work with me. The more I think about it, the more the memories of being a lonely loser in middle school fly through my mind. Lucy couldn’t even dream of being friends with the popular girls. Now I’m stuck in this awkward triangle. If I had known that getting close with the popular girls would end like this, I probably wouldn’t have tried so hard to become one of them. Sometimes, I just miss the simplicity of losing myself in a good book for the entire weekend and forgetting that an outside world even exists.

Eventually, I figure I should return and check out the damage. Brittany is no longer crying but Santana looks tired. They’re sitting across from one another on the floor and there seems to be tension sitting between them. I try to ignore it and save what’s left of the evening.

We stick to neutral topics of discussion: the latest drama of glee club, whining about the wrath that Sylvester imparts on us regularly, and listening to Brittany recalling random facts about every A-lister in Hollywood. It’s early when we decide to call it a night, but I’m grateful for the excuse to not force any more conversation.

When I wake up in the morning, I can hear hushed voices coming from the kitchen. I blink and wipe the sleep from my eyes, pushing my glasses on to survey the room. Both Santana and Brittany have disappeared from their spots on the couches. In the distance I can hear coffee brewing.

“I’m sorry for last night,” Brittany says, her voice hardly distinguishable over the bubbling from the coffeemaker. 

“It’s fine, B,” Santana responds. She sounds nonchalant but I hear the undertones. She’s just appeasing Britt to avoid an awkward conversation.

“No it’s not. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk and put all of that on you. It’s not your fault that I haven’t moved on.”

Apparently Brittany caught onto Santana’s tone too. She has known her for so much longer than me that it shouldn’t be surprised that she knows every nuanced piece of Santana’s personality.

My chest tightens at her comment about not moving on. It’s basically what I’ve been worried about the entire time that they’ve been hanging out. Santana has always had trouble saying no to Brittany in any sense and this has been the hardest challenge of them all.

“I love you, B. But I’m in love with Quinn. Do you understand the difference? I’m with her now and I don’t want to ruin that. You’re my best friend and you always will.”

The pain immediately ebbs at hearing Santana’s voice. She’s say no with zero hesitation. I know I’ve been overly jealous for no reason when I hear her say that she’s in love with me. I smile into my pillow at the lightness that overtakes my body. She’s picking me for real.

There’s some more hushed conversation but I don’t bother trying to listen anymore. My heart is soaring and I can’t wait to get Santana by herself so I can show her how much I appreciate her honesty.

I hear Brittany gathering her belongings in the foyer, so I drag myself off the couch. She says a quick goodbye to both of us, giving me a short hug to thank me for having her over. I can see the sadness in her eyes, but I also can feel that she’s finally gotten the closure that she needs.

Santana looks at me nervously when the door closes behind Brittany like she’s not sure where we stand about the events of last night. I don’t hesitate to pin her against the wall of the foyer and start kissing her with fiery passion.

When I pull back due to lack of oxygen, Santana is looking at me with dark eyes and her brow knit in confusion.

“What did I do to deserve that?” she asks, toying with my fingers linked in her own.

“You deserve a lot more than that,” I foreshadow, slipping my free hand under her t-shirt and scratching my fingernails along her stomach, causing her abdomen muscles to jump beneath them. I smirk at her. She doesn’t protest when I pull her from the wall and frog march her up the stairs and into my bedroom.

I push her back on the bed and she looks torn between being incredibly turned on by my dominant nature and being confused as to why this is happening after the night we had. She doesn’t try to stop me as I stand between her legs on the edge of the bed. Her hands automatically wrap around my waist and I lean down to capture her lips. We move together, her hands gripping my hips tightly, nails digging into my skin. 

My touches are desperate and needy like I need to rediscover the girl that I’ve fallen for. Santana moans as I let my hands grope through her shirt and run my tongue along her ear and neck. She lifts her arms just long enough to let me pull her t-shirt over her head. I yank it off and admire the sight of her caramel skin and dark nipples that are hard and begging for my attention.

She’s pushing into my hands as I move them back to her chest without the fabric separating us and she throws her head back, giving me unimpeded access to a wide expanse of her neck. She moans as I suck lightly and swirl my tongue over her flesh.

I want to feel all of her and I tug at her shorts with urgency. She gets the hint and lifts her ass so I can pull both the shorts and her panties down. When they pass her knees, she kicks them off carelessly and reaches up to interlace her fingers through my hair.

I kiss down her body, taking a stiff nipple between my lips and swirling my tongue until she pulls my hair painfully hard. I kiss the valley between her breasts and run my tongue along her abs, tasting the salt of her sweat. I kneel on the floor and the carpet is rough against my knees, but my senses are overwhelmed by Santana’s musky scent and the sight of her legs spread right before me. She is literally dripping, her wetness glistening in the apex of her thighs.

Leaning forward, I breathe her in and exhale deeply. She shivers at the feel of my breath and I grin at how easily I affect her. I slow down from my frantic pace and enjoy watching her squirm with need. My fingers graze the insides of her thighs lightly and she immediately spreads her legs even wider. I move forward and brush my lips against her skin. She moans softly and lets her upper body fall back against the bed, her one hand still tangled in my hair and the other fisting the comforter. I grasp her thighs and she wraps them around the back of my head, pulling me closer to where she needs me most.

I give in, letting my tongue dart out to graze swollen, sticky flesh. I hum at tasting something that is distinctly Santana and she shivers from the vibration of my lips against her folds. Her reactions spur me on and I run my tongue through her slit, lapping up her juices and exploring her delicately. Santana shifts and tries to angle her hips to get more friction from me. I tease, giving her an uneven rhythm of hard licks and barely there touches. Little, frustrated whimpers escape her lips and her hand in my hair tightens almost painfully.

She’s losing her patience with my gentle caresses and I’m so hungry for her that I give in, pressing my tongue against her clit and rolling the swollen bud over it. Santana releases a guttural moan that makes wetness flood between my own legs. I speed up, switching between rolling my tongue and sucking her clit into my mouth. I take my hand off of her thigh and push a finger into her, curling it naturally and moving in and out, meeting the pace of my tongue. She tightens her knees against my shoulders, her ankles locking behind my neck. I feel the muscles of her thighs tighten against me as she grows closer. I enter her with a second finger and thrust harder, driving into her hard, curling my fingers against her and drawing out her loud moans.

Her back arches and she freezes, suspended in time. I don’t stop, pushing her to every limit. She crashes around me, body spasming and shaking uncontrollably against me. A surge of her juices coat my fingers as I continue to slide in and out of convulsing walls, drawing out every echo of her pleasure.

As she comes down, I feel her body go limp and I slowly extract myself, pushing her up further on the bed before crawling up next to her. I’m still fully dressed and completely sated just from getting to give her that kind of pleasure. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and she shivers slightly. I pull the throw blanket from the end of the bed and toss it over us as I pull her into me. She nuzzles into my shoulder and fists my t-shirt on my stomach, holding me close to her.

I feel like we could fall back asleep with how comfortable this is, but I have things to do today.

“San?” I whisper, hating to break the moment.

“Hmm?” she mumbles, still sort of incoherent from her orgasm.

“I need to go see my Grandpa today,” I say softly, leaning to kiss her forehead, brushing the hair away from her eyes as I do so.

“Mhmm.”

“Will you come with me?” I ask nervously.

Santana sits up a little and her eyes are wide with worry. I gaze down at her and pull my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down on it.

“You want me to come hang out with just you and your Grandpa?” she clarifies. I nod once. “In like an old people home?”

“He’s in assisted living. It’s like he has a little apartment in a complex. But his birthday is Wednesday and I won’t have time to get out there with school and cheerleading, so I’m going over today.”

“Why do you want me to go?” Santana asks, seeming to be genuinely curious.

“He told me to hang onto the friend that gave me the book for Christmas. And I want him to get to know that person. You and Grandpa Joe are the two most important people in my life.”

Santana’s face goes soft at my admission and I feel myself flush with embarrassment. She reaches up and strokes my heated cheeks tenderly, giving me a sweet smile.

“I’m flattered, Q. But are you sure you want to do this?”

I nod again, my eyes locked on hers. She smiles again and it’s a silent agreement that I’m not going alone.

Santana hangs a half step behind me as we approach my Grandpa’s door. In my peripheral vision, I see her run her fingers through her hair before smoothing it down. It looks perfect, but she seems really nervous. I stop before knocking and turn to her. I grasp her hand briefly, squeezing it with reassurance.

“He’s really friendly and he’s not going to put you on the witness stand or anything. Just be yourself and he’ll love you, San.”

She gives me a weak nod and tries to force a smile onto her face. I feel bad for convincing her to come, but I can show her my appreciation in the privacy of her bedroom later tonight.

Grandpa Joe answers the door almost as soon as I knock and a huge grin immediately takes over his lined face.

“Lucy! What a pleasant surprise!” He reaches out and pulls me into a warm hug. As he releases me, he notices that I’m not alone. “And who is this beautiful young lady? He inquires, the twinkle in his eye shining happily.

“This is my friend, Santana,” I say, turning to face her.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” she says politely, extending her hand. Grandpa gives a hearty chuckle and ignores her outstretched hand, choosing instead to pull her into a one-armed hug. He’s so warm and welcoming and Santana seems taken aback at how much he differs from my mom.

He ushers us in and closes the door behind us. I’ve been here a handful of times, but always with my parents. He leads us through to his small living room and settles us in on the couch before announcing that he’ll be right back.

Santana looks around the room curiously. It’s a standard little apartment and it’s the perfect size for him. Almost every surface is covered by items that document my Grandpa’s life. There are framed pictures of all of his grandchildren. On the end table sits the picture of my grandparents on their wedding day, my grandfather’s full head of blonde hair swept neatly to one side and my grandmother’s dress a creation of elaborate lace and frills. The walls hold signed baseball cards and the top of the entertainment unit plays host to collections of old magazines. The shelves are stuffed with hundreds of records and the old-fashioned record player still sits on a rickety table in the corner. There’s a bookshelf on the far side that holds photo albums and random collectibles. One of the bottom shelves has a neat row of books with crumbling bindings. Everything in here encompasses the parts of my grandfather that I love so much.

“This is a nice place, Mr. Altman,” Santana says when Grandpa Joe walks back into the living room carrying a tray of steaming mugs and a tin of cookies.

“Please, call me Grandpa Joe,” he says sincerely, placing the tray on the coffee table and handing us each a mug. “I hope you girls aren’t too old for hot cocoa with marshmallows.”

“I could never be too old, Pops,” I say with a smile, taking a sip from my mug and leaning forward to take a cookie.

Grandpa Joe asks Santana about herself and I find myself smiling like a fool at how well they hit it off. Santana tends to be brash, even around adults, but Grandpa Joe seems to bring out this soft side of her that I’ve rarely seen.

“Tell me about Quinn as a little kid,” Santana urges him with a persuasive smile.

“Oh, Lucy was the sweetest little girl. Her sister Frannie was always surrounded by a million playmates and lived only to be spoiled by every person imaginable. But Lucy was quiet and full of imagination. I remember that Emeline, Lucy’s grandmother, and I were watching them one day in the summer. Lucy was only about 7 at the time. Frannie was pouting because she was stuck spending the day with stuffy old people away from her friends, but Lucy took a blanket and dragged it into the backyard. She spread it all out under a tree in the backyard and came in and got a glass of Grandma’s lemonade and an armful of books and spent the whole time completely immersed in her books. At one point, she comes running in with her hands holding her book carefully open. Tucked into the binding was a caterpillar that fell from the tree and she kept it safe. All afternoon her and Emeline spent building it a little home in a shoebox, but when it was time to go home she carried it back to the tree and put it back, not wanting it to be lost from its family.”

Santana turned to face me, her face dripping with adoration for my seven year-old self.

“That is the most adorable thing ever, Luc,” she said and I scowl at her for the use of my childhood name. She chuckles and winks at me before turning back to my grandfather so he could further embarrass me.

By the time we were standing at the front door and putting on our coats, I knew that Grandpa adored Santana the way I did. Santana walked back into the living room to retrieve her forgotten purse and Grandpa hugged me tightly.

“She’s something special, Lucy. Don’t let her slip away just because you’re scared.”

My heart starts pounding at his statement. He knows and he’s treating me just the same. I’ve spent months worrying about how people would react to knowing about us, but here’s my 76 year-old grandfather acting like it’s the most normal thing to happen in my life.

Santana appears again but standing back, giving us our moment. When I catch her gaze, I gesture that she can come over. She walks over slowly, pausing awkwardly at my side.

“Lucy, can I have a moment with your lovely friend here?”

“Sure, Pops,” I say softly, giving him another hug and swinging the door open. “I’ll meet you in the car, San.” She gives me a little nod and I leave her alone with my grandfather.

I warm up the car and fiddle with the radio impatiently. I know that they’ve gotten along but I still feel guilty about leaving her with my grandfather in his apartment. It’s a few long minutes before she finally opens the driver side door and slides into the seat. She looks a little pale and I glance over nervously.

“I’m pretty sure your grandfather just threatened my life if I break your heart,” Santana mumbles, staring at her hands.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry, San,” I ramble, trying to make up for dragging her here.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I promised him I wouldn’t. Oh, and we’re scheduled to visit in two weeks.”

She leans over the console and brushes her lips against my cheek. It’s warm and full of promises of the future.

“I also told him that you’d make some of your apparently famous peanut butter chocolate chip cookies for him.”

“I can do that,” I say, feeling the happiness of how my day had turned out burning through my entire body. She kisses my cheek once more before moving back onto her side and buckling her seatbelt. As soon as she puts the car into drive, she reaches over and clasps my hand, holding it the whole ride like it’s the most normal thing in the world.


	14. Chapter 14

High school parties are the epitome of lame. I’ve known that I’d prefer a quiet movie night since my first time going to one, but nothing really put it in perspective until Santana and I both agreed to go to Tim’s completely sober.

It’s the beginning of April and it feels like spring, but the football jocks are still wearing their heavy letterman jackets and keep bringing up highlights from their games from six months ago. There’s a bunch of slutty freshman girls sipping wine coolers and giggling obnoxiously in one corner while Tim hits on them mercilessly. Finn is holding a red cup and sloshes beer down his shirt as he whines to anyone who will listen about how Rachel is still not putting out.

Santana groans loudly after the third time he brings it up within ten minutes. I try to repress my snort when he glares at her. He stomps out of the room under the pretense of getting another beer. Britt is across the room and I catch her little smile at the scene before she focuses her attention on the lacrosse boy that is tonight’s target.

“God, this is so freaking lame,” Santana announces loudly to nobody in particular. A few heads turn in her direction at the remark. I don’t respond even though I completely agree.

“You upset that there are hotter pieces of ass here than you, Lopez?” Tim taunts, slinging his arm around the nearest freshman girl, who gives Santana a smug once-over.

“If you think that piece of fresh meat you’re holding is hotter than someone like me, you have definitely taken a cum shot to the eyes in the locker room one too many times,” Santana snarls at him, keeping her expression completely unreadable. A few of Tim’s buddies laugh before he turns to glare at them.

“Covering up for your own locker room activities, Santana? You used to spend an awful lot of time on your knees in the boys’ locker room, but lately I hear you prefer to join your own teammates in their shower stall after Cheerio practice instead.”

The freshman girl laughs raucously at Tim’s comeback and before I can step in, Santana lunges at both of them. She lands a solid punch to Tim’s jaw before Puck can get in between them. Tim looks furious as he rubs the spot where she made contact and Santana strains to get out Puck’s grasp to continue her assault on Tim’s face. The freshman girl now looks terrified of her and scampers back to the safety of her friends in the corner.

“Outside,” I say firmly to Puck, who nods once before wrestling an irate Santana towards the door.

I follow them out, trying to ignore the jeers from some of the upperclassmen guys. I’m thankful to see a pair of sympathetic eyes across the room in the form of Brittany before I slam the front door, separating us from the party.

Puck releases Santana and she strides across the lawn. I watch from the porch steps as she dropkicks her water bottle into the next yard and screams angrily in rapid Spanish.

“Good luck,” Puck says to me, patting my shoulder lightly on his way back into the party.

I walk across the lawn to where Santana is still stomping around. I reach out, grasping her upper arms. She jerks immediately, pulling away from me and moving to put a couple of feet between us. She crosses her arms across her chest and glares at me.

“Are you just trying to fuel the rumors, Q?” She’s seething and vulnerable right now, but her words still sting.

“Give me your keys,” I respond icily, holding my palm out to her. She digs into her pocket for a moment before dropping them into my outstretched hand. “Let’s go, we’re leaving.”

I turn on the spot and walk down the sidewalk to Santana’s car. I climb into the driver’s seat and Santana hops into the passenger seat while refusing to look at me. It’s only two weeks until my birthday when I’ll actually be allowed to have my own car, but I figure it’s better for me to drive than Santana in her angry state. I take my time adjusting the seat and the mirrors, double-checking everything before turning the key into the ignition and pulling away from the curb.

I drive cautiously the entire way to Santana’s, which just seems to make her even angrier. I sigh in relief when we finally pull into the garage and I can shut the car off. Santana wastes no time in grabbing them from me and leading the way into the house.

Mrs. Lopez is still awake when we get in, which feels weird because usually we’re sneaking through a dark, quiet house after a party. The clock on the microwave tells me it’s only nine-thirty.

“You girls are home early,” she comments idly as we walk through the kitchen.

“It was stupid and Quinn’s making me study all day tomorrow, so we figured that a good night’s rest would be helpful,” Santana lies, not making eye contact with her mom. Santana gestures for me to follow her, so I say an awkward goodnight with a tight-lipped smile to Mrs. Lopez before following Santana upstairs.

As soon as we’re in Santana’s bedroom with the door locked, Santana starts breaking down. I’m frozen in place as she falls apart right before my eyes. She hasn’t even gotten her shoes off before the sobs begin and I have no idea what to do. I move towards her, unsure if she’ll freak out if I touch her like she did at Tim’s house. She flinches slightly when my hand grazes her arm, but then melts into my touch. I feel a little better that she’s not pulling away from me anymore. I lead her over to the bed and she sits on the edge, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. I climb onto the bed and settle behind her, letting her fall back into my arms.

My own head is overwhelmed with replaying what happened at Tim’s and freaking out if people know what is going on with Santana and I. Right now, she needs me to be the strong one, but my own resolve is dissolving fast and I feel so claustrophobic being in Santana’s room right now. But I can’t leave her when she’s such a mess.

“I fucking hate it here,” she chokes through her sobs. Her feelings resonate through every fiber of my body. At least her mom knows and still loves her. She’ll always have that no matter how the rest of the world treats her. I don’t think I’m ever going to be lucky enough to have that.

“Me too,” I mumble against her hair, wrapping her even tighter in my arms as I try to hold back my own tears.

We sit there, me holding Santana together the best I can, for what seems like an eternity until Santana’s sobs die down into watery sniffles.

“Do you think someone actually told him about the locker room or he just took a shot in the dark to piss me off?”

I don’t answer her right away, choosing instead to hug her tightly and brush my lips against her cheek. Despite completely freaking out internally, there’s something soothing about having her pressed against me.

“I really don’t know, San,” I say softly, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“God, I should’ve knocked his damn teeth out,” Santana added bitterly.

“It wouldn’t have helped anything,” I tell her honestly.

“How are you so okay with all of this?” she questions me, turning to look at me. I loosen my grip on her and she nudges me onto my back before lying next to me, her arm tucked over my stomach.

“I’m not,” I admit, squeezing my eyes closed to keep the tears from spilling out. “What the hell am I going to do if my parents find out? They’ll disown me.”

My biggest fear hangs heavily around us. Santana grips me tightly and rests her cheek against my shoulder, but I know she’s just as tense as I am.

“We’ll figure this out. Together.” 

I know she’s trying to soothe me, but I don’t think there’s really anything that could calm me down right now. I feel like my life has turned into a ticking time bomb in the last two hours.

Santana sits up and kicks off her shoes. She slides from the bed and undresses, replacing her dress with an oversized t-shirt. She tosses one at me and I scramble off the bed to change as well. Santana turns off the light and we climb into the bed together. My chest hurts from the stress and emotion from the night’s events, but we lay tangled up together and it eases the slightest bit.

“I love you, Q.” Her words ring out in the silent room. I feel my body tense up against my will.

I don’t respond. I know I should I say it back. If I’m honest with myself, I do love Santana. But the words stay locked up in my heart. She stays still against me, her breathing coming in long, steady intervals. I appreciate that she doesn’t push me to say it out loud, but I squeeze her hand and hope that she understands that how much I love her actually scares the shit out of me.

It’s a restless night of both of us. We stay pressed against one another, trying to find even the littlest bit of comfort, but Tim’s words rattle around in my head repeatedly. Did he actually know something or was he just pushing Santana’s buttons? Had Brittany slipped up and told someone else? There were so many unanswered questions and I found myself completely unable to relax. Santana didn’t seem to be much better and she spent her night kicking around as well.

Breakfast is a quiet affair despite the spread that Mrs. Lopez has made for us. Max and his friend gobble down their pancakes and talk excitedly about their plans to play paintball that afternoon beside us. Santana doesn’t touch a bite of her food, choosing just to drink black coffee in silence instead. The bags under her eyes are noticeable and Mrs. Lopez eyes us both with concern as she drops a plate of bacon directly in front of me.

I eat a minimal amount so as to not offend Mrs. Lopez, but my stomach is churning unhappily still. I’m relieved when we can finally get out of the room again, but Santana’s bedroom doesn’t offer much relief. We’re skirting around one another, awkwardly lounging on her bed. I don’t have my backpack with me to even suggest that we get started on our schoolwork. I think we’re both too distracted to study anyway.

“You any good at Mario Kart?” Santana asks as she fiddles with the strings of her sweatshirt and giving me a half-smile.

I finally return to my own house an hour before dinner. My dad is yelling at somebody on the phone in his office, so I just say a quick hello to my mom before retreating to my bedroom. I feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack at the very thought that there’s even the slightest of chances that they could find out about Santana and I. Frannie would throw me under the bus in a heartbeat, so I pray that even if they find out, they don’t bring it up to her so I can deny it to the best of my ability.

Dinner is the normal awkward affair and I do everything possible to not draw attention towards myself more than necessary just in case they actually notice that something is wrong. Of course, they don’t because they never do, but it’s still a relief nonetheless.

By Monday morning, the tension still hasn’t dissipated between us. We ignore the issue on the entire ride to school, but Santana makes a point of keeping a few feet between our swinging hands as we walk into the school.

I don’t push her on it and let her walk to homeroom without me. I drag my feet to class, but keep my shoulders back and my head held high. Despite all the crap going on in my head, I need to keep my appearances up. I’m still head Cheerio, even if I’m dating one of my teammates secretly.

Santana and I don’t hang out after school, even though I know I should probably help her study for our history test. But she pulls up in front of my house and I don’t suggest otherwise. Instead, I just tell her that I’ll text her later and I climb out of the car.

Tuesday morning is much of the same but I bite my tongue once again. Santana squeezes my hand quickly as we turn into the school parking lot, but as soon as we’re around our classmates, we leave plenty of space between us.

It’s silent on the car ride home too, but I finally crack when she pulls into my driveway.

“Can we please deal with what’s going on?” I plead, looking over at her. She’s staring out the windshield at my house and her knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

Santana doesn’t respond, but she throws the car into reverse and backs down my driveway. We don’t speak as she parks at her own house or as we walk in. I follow in her wake until we’re in the basement. She walks around the room, her fingers grazing along the edges of the pool table. She’s biting her lip adorably and I just want to kiss her, but I don’t really know if that’s okay given our awkwardness right now.

“I know that what happened at Tim’s freaked you out,” she says quietly. “You’re still freaked out.”

I can’t deny what she’s saying; I can’t stop thinking about it and what would happen if our relationship became common knowledge. I’d be looking for a new place to live for starters.

“I’m not ready for it to come out either, Q. My mom knowing is bad enough, but I can’t take the stares or the whispers or any of it.”

She crosses her arms across her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together. I walk towards her and she doesn’t pull away when I rest my hand on her bicep, which is reassuring considering how we’ve been for the past couple of days.

“So we don’t let anything get out,” I say barely above a whisper. I’m terrified to know what’s really going on inside Santana’s head.

“I heard Tim’s buddy talking to JewFro this morning. He was saying that he has evidence that Brittany and I were getting it on in the locker room.”

My teeth automatically clench and my whole body tenses at her statement. It’s not me that the rumors are about; it’s more about Brittany and Santana.

“What does Brittany have to say about it?”

“You know Britt. Things like gossip never really bother her. But if they realize that Brittany and I aren’t a thing, they’ll start sniffing around for new evidence because now I’m already on the gossip radar. Who the hell knows what JBI is going to run on his stupid blog as it is.”

She’s acting tough, but I know that she’s crumbling. I know Santana better than I ever thought I would and she’s completely a mess over what could happen if JBI really does run an article based on some gossip from Tim’s friends.

“So what do we do?” I ask, letting my hand stroke her arm soothingly.

“I think we should date guys and make sure we don’t draw any attention to how close we’ve gotten.”

“You want us to have beards?” I ask incredulously. The idea of Santana being with anybody else makes me sick.

“We don’t have to sleep with them or anything. We can just keep them around as arm candy at school and at the occasional party but really just keep seeing one another.” Santana had obviously spent a lot of time thinking about this plan.

“I don’t know, San.”

“I meant it when I said that I love you the other night. You’re amazing and I’m so happy with you. But we can’t come out right now and we’re one careless mistake away from being thrown out of the closet against our will.”

As much as I don’t want to, I melt at Santana’s words. She does love me and I have seen her worry in every movement since Friday night. Santana was trying to protect the both of us.

“Fine,” I say, knowing there’s really no good solution. “But nothing more than kissing with any guy and we still have our sleepovers after the parties. Saturday nights are reserved for just us.”

Santana answers me with a firm kiss and my world feels like it’s falling back into place.

By lunch on Wednesday, the gossip mill is running at full steam about the fact that Santana Lopez is dating a lacrosse guy named Chase. He's a junior with brown hair that falls into his eyes. Santana invites him to eat lunch with us and Puck and Finn scowl at Chase due to all of the attention the girls at our table are giving him. I immerse myself in my AP English homework while I pick at my salad and avoid the topics of conversation altogether.

Thankfully, today is Celibacy Club. In reality, I've only been going to keep up my membership to boost my applications when I finally apply for college, but vowing to be celibate seems a lot better than finding a fake boyfriend to keep my actual relationship a secret.

One of the junior Cheerios has kind of stepped in as president lately since I've been doing basically nothing for the club, but I reclaim my throne as soon as I walk in the door. She doesn't argue with me in the slightest and instead updates me on what our agenda looks like. Santana comes to the meeting and looks bemused through my whole rant about the importance of abstinence despite societal pressure. I have to bite my lip from laughing when she announces to the club that she's never going to sleep with Chase because she wants to be a born-again virgin.

The Chastity Ball is less than a month away and the other girls have made most of the plans, but I give my input and make it clear that I'll be attending to solidify my commitment to my celibacy. I tell my parents about the Ball over dinner and they both beam at me with pride. My dad happily agrees to escort me and my mom insists that she takes me shopping for my gown. It's really the exact opposite of what I'd like to spend a Saturday night doing, but it's really the perfect distraction to keep the attention away from the rumors.

A week later, I'm being dragged through the local department store with my mother in search of the perfect dress for the ball. My only requirement is that it has to be white, but my mom also insists that it has a modest neckline while still accentuating my body nicely.

I don't complain as she pulls a million dresses off of the racks and thrusts them into my hands as she shoves me into a fitting room. After the fifteenth dress, she finally exclaims that we've found the one. It's white and simple with some lace detailing. Santana is going to make fun of me for it so much, but my mother is happy and it meets the criteria for the ball.

We stop at Breadstix on the way home for dinner since it's already pretty late. We order salads and my mom orders a glass of chardonnay to go with it. I'm starving and the breadsticks are sitting right there, but I don't feel like being lectured on the evils of carbohydrates tonight.

"I'm so happy that you're focusing on something worthwhile, Quinnie," my mother says affectionately as she moves onto her second glass of wine.

I look up to see that gleam of pride in her eyes again and it kills me how hard I have to work to have the satisfaction of seeing it there. I give her a forced smile and turn back to pushing the tomatoes around my plate.

"Being on Cheerios is wonderful, but I think you spend too much time focusing on that glee club you're in. Celibacy club is a better investment for your future."

"I like glee club," I respond lamely. It is true most days; despite all of the drama and watching the saga that is Finn and Rachel's relationship, glee club is pretty cool. At least I know when I'm there, I can just be myself for an hour a day without really worrying about it since I'm surrounded by even bigger losers.

"Oh, I know you do, sweetie. I just think that you'd be better off with a club that has members on your own level."

I don't give her the satisfaction of responding. I could easily remind her that less than two years ago, I was just as big of a loser. In fact, I was probably worst off than any of the kids in glee club. Middle school kids didn't throw slushies, but their words hit me in the face every time I took a step down the hallways. It's almost as though my mom has forgotten about Lucy altogether.

It's too late to go to Santana's when we finally get home, but she's online.

Q: Hey you :)  
S: Hey, Q  
Q: I got my Chastity Ball gown today...  
S: I can't believe you're going to that lame ass dance. You do realize that it's going to be a room of girls that are choosing to be celibate because they can't get laid, right?  
Q: No it won't. You and I will be there.  
S: Hell no, Q. I joined your stupid fucking club and I let you prance around like you're actually a celibate princess, but I ain't going to the fucking ball  
Q: Even if it means afterwards you have the privilege of getting me out of my chastity ball gown?  
S: you don't play fair, Fabray  
Q: so you'll go?  
S: only because it's worth the irony of getting to fuck the Celibacy club president afterwards.  
Q: you're the best, baby :) I'll see you tomorrow!  
S: goodnight you beautiful, manipulative bitch

The following Saturday, my mom insists on taking me to the hairdresser to get a fancy updo for the Chastity Ball. I also get a manicure/pedicure, my eyebrows waxed, and my makeup professionally done before she’s done with me. By the time we get home, I have to get into my dress. My mom calls up the stairs three times while I finish getting ready, telling me I need to hurry up so she can take pictures before we go.

When I finally emerge down the staircase, my father is standing at the bottom next to my mom in his best tuxedo. It’s hard to not admire how handsome he looks and I feel a little twinge of jealousy that Frannie was the one that got his natural good looks.

He holds out his hand as I reach the last few stairs and I take it. My mom is snapping pictures on the digital camera and barks instructions for poses before she finally kisses dad and I goodbye so we can leave.

The drive to the country club where the Ball is being held is a quiet affair. My dad isn’t a man of many words and I don’t really care to elaborate on anything, so our conversations continually fall short. I’m relieved when we pull into the parking lot. He walks around to the passenger door and opens it, offering me his hand as he helps me out of the car. We enter with my hand perched in the crook of his elbow, looking elegant.

We find our table and I drop my clutch off with him as I go to check on some final details with the rest of the board. The other girls have everything under control, but I linger anyway to avoid being left alone with my dad for any extended period of time. As the tables start to fill up, I walk back through to our table, glad to see Santana and her dad sitting there. She winks at me as I slip into my seat between her and my dad.

“Nice to see you, Quinn. You look beautiful, my dear,” Mr. Lopez says with his easy grin.

“Thanks, Mr. Lopez,” I respond politely and I give him a warm smile.

My dad and Mr. Lopez return to talking business and Santana and I chat awkwardly about what the other girls are wearing and try to keep the conversation as neutral as possible in the presence of our dads.

We go through the dinner part of the night and the ritualistic parts of the ball before they finally crank up the music to something other than classical. The bar has opened by now and the dads choose to congregate and talk about their jobs and politics, leaving all of us girls to dance together.

Santana and I slip away from our dads as soon as physically possible. We dance with some distance between us on the far end of the dance floor, interrupted only randomly by some of our teammates coming over to say hello.

I’m relieved when the night is over, but my dad seems happy the whole ride home. He agrees readily when I ask if I can sleep over Santana’s house tonight. We stop home and I pack a quick overnight bag, but don’t change of my dress. My dad has taken off his bowtie and jacket by the time I come back downstairs and he offers to drive me to Santana’s house.

“I’m glad we did this, Quinnie,” he says, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

“Me too, Dad,” I say. I’m glad that he’s pleased with me, but right now I’m more concerned about getting into Santana’s room so that I can get out of this damn dress.

I say a rushed goodbye when he pulls up in front of their house and I grab my bag from the backseat before walking briskly up the driveway to the front door. Mrs. Lopez answers my knock and lets me in, complimenting my dress. I make a few minutes of small talk with her until Santana appears in the kitchen and gives me a sly grin over Mrs. Lopez’s shoulder.

“Goodnight, girls,” Mrs. Lopez says, getting the hint when Santana fake yawns really loudly.

We clamber up the stairs hurriedly as soon as we say goodnight. As soon as the door is shut behind us, I reach for the zipper of the dress on my back. Santana’s hands cover mine, stopping them in their motions. I turn to look at her, confused.

“I think part of the reward for going to your stupid anti-sex dance should be that I get to strip the queen of the ball,” Santana whispers against the shell of my ear and I shudder at her raspy sex voice.

I let my hands fall back down to my sides, but her delicate ones stay against my back, coaxing the zipper down torturously slow. I hold my breath as I feel each tooth of the zipper give way until her hands are resting at the top of my ass. Santana slides her hands up my exposed back and I feel the goose bumps erupt in their wake. She leans forward and kisses the back of my neck lightly, her breath hot against me and her hands pull the dress down over my shoulders until I can slide my arms out of it. The dress falls slowly down my body until the material pooled around my ankles on Santana’s floor.

Santana wraps her hands around my waist and pulls me back into her, letting me step over the dress as she leads me towards her bed. We stumble across the floor and she lets out a giddy laugh. As we hit the edge of the bed, I let myself collapse on it and I turn to look at her.

She is standing on the side of the bed with a bashful smile. Dark tresses fall in waves past her shoulders and clash magnificently with her white gown. It’s not nearly as conservative as my own; the neckline plunges showing a healthy amount of cleavage and the slit up the side is sinfully high. But she looks stunning and, more than anything, she looks happy and relaxed. After the couple of weeks we’ve had, it’s soothing to see her look more like herself.

I watch as she unzips the dress and pulls it slowly down her arms, dangling the anticipation of what’s underneath in front of me. She knows that how tantalizing her actions are and she bites her lip seductively as she lets the dress fall, exposing her white bra and abs that I’m already desperate to be running my tongue along. She shimmies her hips, pushing the dress down and exposing her panties and tanned thighs before it finally disappears beyond the edge of the bed.

Santana crawls right on top of me until her knees are pressed against the outside of my thighs, effectively holding me in place. She swoops down and her lips are back on mine with renewed fervor. A whole night of stolen brushes of fingers while dancing have built up within me and I just want to have my hands and mouth of every inch of Santana’s skin. My fingers move down her shoulders and back until I’m gripping Santana’s ass. I squeeze and she bites down on my lip before swiping her tongue across it.

She balances her weight on her right arm and brings her left hand up to cup my cheek as she keeps kissing me. I don’t think I could ever tire of Santana’s kisses; they’re soft and urgent, sweet yet passionate. I dig my nails into the skin of her ass, urging her to lower her body down onto mine. She moves her leg in between my own and lets body press completely against mine.

I bask in the warmth of her skin against my own and I wrap my arms tightly around her waist, holding her against me. She rocks slowly against me as we kiss, her movements deliberate and calculated. I wanted her to speed up, not slow down. I press my thigh up into her core as she rocks as I try to spur her on. My right hand slides up her back until I unclasp her bra, feeling the material slacken between us. She breaks her connection to my lips only long enough to move it and she presses back against me, her bare chest scratching along my lace bra.

Her movements start to speed up, her body rocking more urgently against my thigh as she moves her lips down my jaw with gentle kisses until she’s sucking on my pulse point. I find purchase in her hair, tangling my hand in it as I throw my head back against the bed in pleasure. She snakes her hand beneath me on the bed and manages to unsnap my bra and she pulls the garment off completely. Her left hand moves to cup one breast, kneading the flesh with warm fingers, avoiding my nipple altogether.

I squirm at her delicate touches as I attempt to get some sort of relief for the frustration I feel in every limb. I feel Santana smile against my flesh; she’s completely aware of how crazy she’s driving me. I push up against her hard and I catch her off-guard. She rolls on instinct and I capitalize; I end up pressing her against the bed, her wrists restrained at her sides with my hands.

I take a second to just look at her. She’s still wearing her thong, but other than that I have a huge expanse of kissable skin at my mercy. I dip down, kissing her lips once before dragging my teeth along her ear and down her neck. She hisses when I bite down on her collarbone but she arches up into my mouth simultaneously, telling me it’s the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. I let her pull her hands from where I’m restraining them she grabs my hips, yanking on me as she rocks her own hips up into me.

Santana’s grasping at me, her nails digging into my sides as I take a nipple between my lips. I start soft and slow, quickly building up the suction and running my tongue over it. A small moan gets caught in her throat and I release it with a wet pop before kissing over to the other one.

Santana pushes her hand between our bodies and cups me through my panties. I’m already soaked through and the material is a frustrating barrier from the pleasure that Santana’s fingers will undoubtedly provide. She seems to sense my anger directed at the offending garment because she grabs the sides of my panties and tugs them down as far as she can. I shift above her until I can kick them off my feet and I’m immediately met with Santana cupping my sex again, this time without anything in the way. She pushes through my lips and her fingers trail along my wet slit, teasing me and collecting my arousal on her fingertips.

She pulls her hand from between us and I whimper at the loss, but I suck in a shaky breath when I see Santana’s lips wrap around her glistening digits. Her eyes close and a little content moan escapes, muffled through her hand.

“Fuck, you’re sexy,” I say into her ear, running my tongue along the edge of it as I grind my wet sex down against her thigh. She meets my movements with her own movements, giving me even more friction against my throbbing clit. Santana slips her hand between us again, but she doesn’t play this time; without warning, she’s impaling me with two strong fingers, thrusting deep inside. My walls clench tightly against the unexpected intrusion and she stills for a second, allowing me to adjust before she continues moving.

I’m moving with desperate, wanton desire, letting her slam up into me as I press down onto her hand. When I rock into her as she pushes up, her palm slaps against my clit and I find myself moving faster and frantically against her and feeling so damn full. She seems to read my mind and adds another finger, stretching me. I moan and pound my hips down onto her fingers hard, grinding against her palm before lifting my hips again and repeating.

I sit up and balance on my heels, my head thrown back in reckless abandon. I feel Santana pinch my nipple between her thumb and forefinger and I groan at the fire that is quickly spreading through my body. She seems to recognize it as well because I hear her voice, at least an octave deeper than usual.

“Look at me, Q,” she coaxes, her movements frantic as she tries to push me to the precipice.

I force my eyes open with much effort and I lock into Santana’s blown pupils underneath me. She thrusts up into me, using her thigh in rhythm with her hand to fuck me even harder. My muscles tighten, squeezing her hand between my legs as my body starts to shake. I lose control and do my best to hold Santana’s gaze, but it becomes too much and my eyes squeeze shut as my orgasm rips through my body. Santana’s name falls from my lips mixed with a moan and I slow my movements on top of her until my body finally goes limp. I lift my hips just enough that she can extract her hand before I roll and collapse onto the bed next to her.

She snuggles into my tired body, her arm casually draped over my stomach as I try to catch my breath. My eyes are heavy and I’m actually throbbing between my legs. My heart stops racing and I feel the exhaustion take over my whole body. I want to reciprocate and make Santana feel as good as I feel in this moment, but it’s so much effort to lift my arms.

Santana moves suddenly and the comforter is being pulled from beneath me. She pushes me gently until my head falls back onto her pillows and she covers us both with the blanket. I reach a tired hand across her and swipe my finger over her nipple, but she covers my hand with her own.

“I’m fine, Q. Get some sleep and you can fuck my brains out in the morning.”

Her words are soft and playful and I smile dreamily, forcing my eyes open to look into her dark brown ones for a minute. She leans over and kisses my forehead, brushing the hair out of my face with a gentle hand.

I wake with my feet still tangled between Santana’s under the comforter. It’s warm and cuddly, but I have bigger intentions for our morning in bed than quiet cuddling. She looks so peaceful that I contemplate letting her sleep, but that idea is quickly pushed away as I pin her to the bed with my naked body pressed against her almost naked one.

Leaning down, I brush my lips across her cheeks and forehead in feather-light kisses. I don’t stop until she opens her eyes, her expression torn between annoyance at being woken up so early on a Sunday morning and giddiness at me hovering above her completely naked.

“Would you rather go back to sleep?” I ask with my eyebrow quirked. Santana shaking her head frantically, telling me she most definitely would rather be awake if it means what she thinks it does. “Good choice, Lopez.”

I start kissing down her body and I feel her hold her breath; I’ve only done this once and it was a bribe for her to study. She giggles when I run my tongue along her hipbone, tickling her. She grabs another pillow from her side and props her head up, giving her a better view as I move to kiss the tops of her thighs, pushing them open with my hands.

I loop my fingers through the sides of her panties and drag them down her legs before tossing them over my shoulder and onto the floor. Again I use my hands to spread her legs. She’s biting her lip adorably when I glance up at her and I grin before turning my attention back to where I really want to be. Using my hands, I push her knees towards her chest, giving me plenty of room to settle on my stomach near the end of the bed with my face hovering over the apex of her thighs. Santana reaches down and puts her hand against my cheek, stroking it lightly before twists some of my hair around her fingers and pulling me closer to her.

The moan she releases as I swipe my tongue along her wet slit is the most primal noise I’ve ever heard. It’s all I need to push in further, tasting her juices between the folds. I explore slowly with my tongue, discovering her soft warmth in every crevice. I never thought that I’d enjoy doing something like this as much as I do, especially in the morning sunlight when I’m in so exposed, but watching Santana’s mouth drop open as she pants and feeling her hand tighten in my hair, urging me on, is the hugest turn on in the world.

Santana uses her hand that’s tangled in my hair to guide me up to her clit and when I brush across it tentatively with my tongue, her hips buck up into my face. She’s reacting completely on instincts and I try different motions and speeds, zooming in on the ones that make her moan and buck. Her hand gets tighter in my hair and I lick her enthusiastically, feeling her clit swell under my movements. I drop one of Santana’s legs off to the side and use my free hand to reach under my chin and slide two fingers deep inside her. I look up at her as I do so and her jaw clenches tightly as her head is thrown back, surrendering to the pleasure I’m giving her.

I find a rhythm with both my fingers and tongue and I draw her closer and closer. Her toes are curled and her brow is furrowed. I wish she’d open her eyes again to look at me, but I don’t want to pull my mouth away from her in order to ask her. I feel her begin to pulse around my fingers and I curl them inside her, brushing along the ridges as I withdraw them before thrusting back in. A few more repetitions and she starts shaking, her thighs squeezing my head and holding me in place as I keep rolling my tongue over her clit until she literally pulls my head away from her.

My lips and chin are soaked and I run my tongue along them, gathering her sweet nectar from my skin. Her eyes are still closed, but she looks more peaceful than she had a few minutes ago. I crawl up over her body until our breasts are pressed against one another and my mouth is hovering above hers.

She lifts a lazy arm and pulls at my neck, forcing our lips to connect. She releases a little moan at the taste of herself in my mouth and I get tingly at how close I feel to her right now.

~!~!~!~

Monday is my birthday, so after I leave Santana’s on Sunday, my dad takes me to pick out a car. I know there’s no way my parents are going to give me a Mustang like Santana has, but a brand new car is more than most people in this cow town ever own.

We stroll through the rows of cars at a few dealerships, my dad talking with the salesmen as I peek inside each one at the different interiors and run my fingers along the sleek frames. By the end of the excursion, my dad is holding the keys to a black Mazda 3 with all of the fancy add-on packages. I wish I could drive it home, but he insists that I wait until tomorrow to get the keys.

On Monday morning, I’m not surprised to see a scribbled note from my dad on the counter that says “Happy birthday, Quinnie!” lying next to the keys to my new car. It’s the only acknowledgment I’m going to get about my birthday, but I’m really okay with that right now. I text Santana to tell her that I’m driving to school instead and twenty minutes later I’m carefully backing out of the driveway and heading for her house.

Santana is standing on the front porch with her backpack hoisted up on her shoulders and she smiles happily at me as she bounds down the steps towards me.

“Nice ride!” she says when she plops down in the passenger seat. “And happy birthday, Q!”

“Thanks,” I say with a grin, readjusting my rearview mirror for the tenth time before pulling away from the curb and heading towards the school.

Santana immediately takes over the radio, programming our favorite stations in and testing out the sound system. My ears are ringing by the time we get to school due to her playing with the volume controls. 

School is just like any other day even though it’s my birthday. Santana seems extra giddy, but actually tries to pay attention and takes notes so I don’t have to scold her. Even Cheerios practice seems more bearable than usual now that it’s warm enough to practice outside. 

Santana tells me that my mom is making my favorite tamales for dinner, so I text my mom that I’m going to eat at Santana’s house before we climb into my car and head home.

In reality, having my favorite dinner is an understatement for the production that is going on in the kitchen when we walk in. Mrs. Lopez is in her apron and is tending to a few pots while checking on whatever is in the oven. The radio is playing softly beneath the din of clanging metal and running water. It all smells absolutely delicious and I tell Mrs. Lopez so.

She beams at me and walks away from her pots for a quick moment to give me a squeeze and wish me a happy birthday before she’s darting back to the stove. Santana pulls me out of the kitchen and into the basement to hang out until dinner is ready.

Santana flips the TV on and flops down onto the couch, pulling my feet into her lap. I let her fingers drag aimlessly up and down my bare calves as she watches a rerun of some terrible reality show. I lean over and pull my book out of my backpack and I get absorbed in it instead.

At one point, my eyes stop scanning the page as my thoughts wander. This moment with Santana is what I imagine our Sunday mornings would be like if we were out of school and living together. I’d have my glasses perched on my nose as I get lost in another world within my book while Santana catches up on her DVR queue or plays video games. We’d be on the couch together, our bodies touching without any hint of more than the need to be close to one another. When our coffee mugs were empty, one of us would get up and refill them before settling back down and intertwining ourselves once again.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by Mrs. Lopez calling us up for dinner. The table is covered with so many dishes, all of them holding Mrs. Lopez’s fantastic cooking. Mr. Lopez is still at work, but Max enters from the living room and pours himself a glass of water before joining us at the table.

I can hardly move by the end of the meal and Mrs. Lopez insists that I don’t help clear the table since it’s my birthday. I sit awkwardly as the three of them carry the plates back into the kitchen. What I’m not expecting is Mrs. Lopez to re-enter carrying a small cake with lit candles stuck in it. She places it in front of me and the three of them sing me “Feliz Cumpleaños” before I blow out the candles. Mrs. Lopez cuts us each a slice, giving me the biggest one. It’s been years since my parents had made me a cake on my birthday and I’m flattered by how welcome I feel in Santana’s house. It’s overwhelming to feel like I belong to a family that isn’t really my own more than I ever have to my own.

After cake, Santana and I sit at the table to do our homework. It’s minimal for once and we finish early enough that I have some time to hang out before my mom is going to expect me home.

Santana goes into her closet when we get home and comes out with her hands hidden behind her back. I raise an eyebrow at her.

“I know you told me that you didn’t want any birthday presents, but I couldn’t help myself.” 

She pulls her hands from behind her back and hands me a rolled up piece of paper that is tied with some red curly ribbon. I slide the ribbon off and unroll it to expose a drawing Santana obviously made. It’s the two of us in our Cheerio uniforms and it’s goofy in its cartoon form. I have my hands on my hips and Santana is beside me with a big smirk on her face. It’s really a spitting image of what we look like and I’m really impressed.

“Thanks, San,” I say with a chuckle when I notice the collection of novels sticking out of the backpack she has drawn at my feet.

“It’s something simple, but we don’t have many pictures of just the two of us so I figured you should at least have a drawing.”

I walk over to where she’s hovering a couple of feet away and reach up to stroke my fingers along her cheek.

“I love it,” I say genuinely and lean in to give her a short kiss.

For the next few weeks, we alternate who drives to school, but we spend very little time together once we get there. Rumors are flying about Santana and her locker room escapades still and she’s completely paranoid about someone finding out. I focus my energy on Cheerios and glee club and celibacy club instead of worrying about my relationship.

Apparently that wasn’t my best decision because on the following Wednesday, I see Santana down the hall leaning against Alec’s locker. He’s grinning at her as he grabs his books for class and they walk to homeroom together.

On Thursday, Santana is at his locker again in the morning. I get my own books and walk behind them to homeroom, keeping a few paces behind. I want to vomit when I see Alec stoop down to peck Santana directly on the lips before she walks into her classroom.

I avoid talking to Santana for the rest of the day because I’m so furious about it. I know that it’s her trying to cover her tracks and I agreed to let her flirt her way back into every boy’s heart, but I didn’t expect her to act like she’s dating a random guy. When she was with Puck, they hardly even spoke in the hallways and they were actually screwing around after hours.

Santana seems to sense something was wrong, but thankfully doesn’t ask me about it. I just let my anger simmer throughout our classes and Cheerio practice. We drive home in silence and I drop her off at her house, citing that I need to study for AP English, which was the only class we don’t share. She shrugs at me and says goodbye without pushing the issue.

A couple of hours later, my phone vibrates on my nightstand. I reach over to see a message from Santana asking me if I was okay. I drop it back on the nightstand and go back to my reading assignment for English. But the vibrating doesn’t stop. Every fifteen minutes or so she tries to text me, rephrasing the question slightly like I might not have understood what was going on the first twenty times.

On Friday, I text Santana to tell her that I’m running late for school so I’ll just drive myself instead of having her pick me up. She bombards me with messages again asking if everything is okay, which I continue to ignore. At this point, she must realize that I’m upset with her but I really don’t feel like fighting via text message before school.

We don’t talk all day and I take my frustration out on the team, causing us all to run sprints until most of us are limping. Sylvester finally yells into her megaphone that we’re done for the day and we all trudge back to the locker room with most of my teammates shooting me dirty looks for the horrible practice.

I wait until mostly everybody else has filed out of the locker room before I strip down and head for the showers. I pushed myself as hard as I had pushed them today and my muscles were screaming from the over exertion. I groan when the steaming water hits my shoulders and runs down my back, easing some of the tension.

By the time I run out of hot water and wrap myself in my towel, it sounds as though the locker room is empty besides me. I walk to my locker and pull out my bag, dressing slowly due to the shooting pains I have in every muscle when I try to move. 

I jump when my locker slams right next to my head while I’m bent over tying my shoelaces. I look up to see Santana standing there, her wet hair tied messily in a bun on top of her head and her t-shirt clinging to her still damp skin.

“Shit, you scared me,” I say, straightening up before sitting down on the bench.

“Why the hell are you avoiding me?” Santana demands immediately, refusing to get off the topic of why she has been waiting in the locker room for me.

“I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with the fact that Alec was kissing you in the middle of the hallway yesterday. I’m sure he probably did today too but I thankfully wasn’t standing behind you this time.”

My tone is snarky and cutting, but I know Santana can hear the hints of vulnerability that filter through as well. Her face drops when she realizes that I’m hurt.

“Q, he’s just my beard. We talked about this a few weeks ago and we agreed it was for the best.”

“Yeah, when he was just arm candy at parties or whatever. I didn’t expect you to be walking with a guy in the hallway all the time and kissing him like it’s actually what you want when you’re sober.”

I don’t bother hiding the fact that tears are slipping down my cheeks.

“You know that I can’t let people find out about us so shortly after the rumors about me and Britt were flying. This is for us both. In two years, we’ll be free of this place and we won’t have to work about the stupid assholes and we can be out. But not now, Q, you know that.”

“I just didn’t know that meant you were going to date other people,” I say shyly.

“I’m not dating Alec. I paid him two hundred bucks to make it look real in the hallways. We never hang out; we never kiss more than what you saw yesterday. The only person I want to kiss is you.”

The genuine look in her eyes and the tears falling down her own cheeks tells me that she’s being completely honest. She doesn’t feel anything for Alec, but he’s the perfect cover while we deal with the situation.

“Why can’t you just renew your celibacy vow like I did?” I plead with her. Whether it’s an act or not, my stomach feels nauseous just thinking about her kissing Alec every day outside of homeroom for the next two years.

Santana laughs raucously at my statement and I frown at her.

“People would never buy that I’m actually celibate as I wasn’t the first time I joined the club. I’ll go to the silly meetings because you make all of the Cheerios go, but you know that people won’t believe that I’m not sleeping with anybody the way they believe it in you.”

“I feel like I should be offended by that,” I consider, cocking my head and giving her a watery smile.

“Well they don’t know what a freak you are in bed like I do,” Santana responds, her voice growing deeper and she takes a step towards me.

I let her lean into kiss me.

“Uh, Quinn? Coach wants to see you.”

I spin around so fast that I’m dizzy and my muscles are screaming at me in pain. At the end of our row of lockers stands Stacy, a senior Cheerio that lives in our neighborhood. She looks terrified and extremely bemused at the same time and I don’t know how I should approach her.

“And how would you know? Were you in her office kissing her ass again?”

I want to slap Santana. Stacy has just found us in a very compromising circumstance and I really don’t want to piss her off when she holds all the power. But like usual, Santana doesn’t think before she reacts and I know she’s hoping to intimidate Stacy into submission.

“At least I’m not fucking my teammates,” Stacy retorts, her smirk growing. “I’m sure Coach would love to hear that her perfect role model Quinn Fabray is a carpet muncher and is taking advantage of the private Cheerio locker room.”

“What’s it going to take for you to forget you ever saw anything here?” I intercede, desperate to fix the damage caused.

“I’m sure I’ll come up with something. Nice seeing you, Fabray.” Stacy winks at me before turning to look at Santana and scowling. She turns with a flutter of her Cheerio skirt and we don’t move until I hear the heavy locker room doors slam behind her.


	15. Chapter 15

“What the hell were you thinking?” I seethe as soon as the door shuts soundly behind Stacy. “God, Santana, couldn’t you just control your freaking impulses for once?”

“Can you just focus on the fact that she’s going to out us to the entire school instead of scolding me for bad behavior?” Santana snaps back, kicking the locker angrily. The metallic clang echoes through the empty locker room.

“I need to go to Coach,” I whisper between my gritted teeth. It’s taking all of my effort to control my anger and I really don’t want to start something with Santana right now.

She just gives me a quick nod of understanding that we’re done discussing this here since we’ve already gotten ourselves in enough trouble for one afternoon. I pick up my bag and head to Coach’s office, leaving Santana standing at my locker.

I don’t hear a word that Coach is saying as she rambles on some tangent about destroying Mr. Schue. I nod a few times so that she thinks I’m acknowledging her, but really I’m focused on thinking about how the hell Santana and I are going to get out of this mess with Stacy. I know Stacy wants blood, especially because Santana has basically treated her like crap for as long as I can remember. Why would she have any reason to keep this secret for us? I’m sure her vow of silence is going to cost us big time.

Coach Sylvester finally releases me after a half an hour of her talking and me nodding and I trudge to my car in the front of the student lot. I completely bypass my own house and park in front of Santana’s. Mrs. Lopez doesn’t seem surprised when I enter through the front door without even bothering to knock and she gives me two cans of Diet Coke and a plate of freshly baked cookies to take up to Santana’s room with me. I know she figures we’re going to study together like usual, but homework is about the last thing I could focus on right now.

I knock on Santana’s door, rapping my knuckles against the wooden surface. It’s become a habit since I walked in on her and Brittany making out last year and even though I know she’s alone, it still feels necessary. I hear a muffled grunt in response and I take that as an invitation to enter.

Inside the room I’m met with dimness. My eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the lack of lighting before I can focus on the lump in the bed that is obviously Santana under the covers. I stride across the room and sit on the edge of the bed tentatively, reaching an arm over to rest on Santana’s shoulder through the blankets. She sniffles at my tender touch, but doesn’t pull away.

I kick my sneakers off and climb under the blankets beside her. She’s curled into a tight ball so I press my front to her back and hold her close with the arm draped over her stomach. My cheek rests on her pillow and it’s damp from where her tears have fallen.

We don’t talk; we just lay together in her bed as dusk turns into night. My head hurts from thinking about our options for dealing with everything. I try to just focus on the rise and fall of Santana’s chest as she breathes in and out in a deep, even rhythm. It should be peaceful having Santana so close. We’ve fallen asleep tangled up together like this so many times and they are always my best nights of sleep, but right now it’s completely tainted by the worry that is coursing through my veins.

“I’m such an idiot for going off on Stacy,” Santana sniffles, the volume hardly above that of a whisper. I give her a small squeeze to indicate that I know she’s apologizing for what happened.

I don’t really know what to say to make anything better, so I just continue to hold her tightly and try to choke down the sobs that have been threatening to explode since Stacy left the locker room.

“I’ll do anything she wants to fix this,” Santana says seriously, rolling onto her back so she can look at me. I settle in again, resting my cheek on her chest and letting her wrap an arm around me. We’re safe here; I could break if I wanted to. Santana would put me back together. My chest is tight with the anxiety and the desperate need to cry, but I just can’t let it escape. Crying isn’t going to fix our problems.

“I’ll also stop pretending to see Alec if it bothers you that much,” Santana adds, her fingers lightly stroking my hair. It soothes me very slightly.

“That’s not going to help our situation at all right now. Acting straight is about the only thing we can keep doing until Stacy figures out how she’s going to blackmail us.”

I know I’m bitter about it all; I worked so damn hard to transition from Lucy to Quinn. I belong at McKinley in a way I never did at my old school but Stacy has the power to ruin all of my progress by caring more about high school gossip than Santana’s or my own well being. Santana’s mom might be cool about us but she hasn’t told any of her other family members about us. I don’t even have to wonder what will happen at my house if news of our relationship goes public; I’ll be packing my bags quicker than humanly possible as my father kicks me out while yelling about all the ways I’ve disappointed him over the years.

“What are we going to do about her blackmail?” Santana asks, her warm hand grazing my cheek tenderly and I exhale as the knot in my chest loosens slightly at the simple gesture.

“Give her what she wants. But we to figure out how to give into her while getting her to agree that if we do what she wants that she cannot decide to release the information later.”

It seems simplistic, but it’s really a lot more complex than that.

“Are you really willing to go along with whatever she decides?” Santana asks.

“I guess we’ll see when she decides on how she’s going to make our lives miserable until she graduates in two months.”

At this point, there’s no reason to talk in circles, which is the only thing we can do. I cuddle into Santana’s side and she holds me against her like she can protect me from my inner demons. 

When I wake up a few hours later, my eyes are burning from sleeping with my contact lenses in. It’s past one o’clock and I’m sure that my mom is going to absolutely murder me for not calling to say I wasn’t going to be home tonight. I decide it’s best if I just head home to deal with the consequences rather than just texting her to say I’m staying at Santana’s. I kiss Santana’s forehead softly and slip out of the bed slowly so as to not disturb her. My sneakers are right next to the bed and I shove them on my feet without tying them and grab my keys and phone from the nightstand.

Surprisingly, my mom hasn’t called or texted me. I tiptoe out of the house and drive the few blocks home, shutting off my headlights as I turn into the driveway. I cringe as I hit the lock button and it beeps loudly. The front door is still unlocked and I walk through it quietly, hanging my keys on the hook in the foyer and putting my shoes in the hall closet.

That’s when I hear the yelling. It really shouldn’t be a surprise by this time in my life, but my stomach still clenches tightly at my dad’s booming voice and my moms teary whimpers and rushed apologies. At least I know why she didn’t seem to care that I was out beyond my school night curfew.

I pad up the stairs as quietly as I can, hoping they just assume that I got home hours ago. After brushing my teeth and taking out my contacts, I climb into bed and shove my headphones into my ears to drown out the yelling.

The house is eerily quiet when I wake up the next morning. I peek out the window to see that my dad’s car is gone, which means he went out and never came home last night or he left really early this morning. As it’s a Saturday, I figure he went to catch an early round of golf. I shower and dress quickly for Cheerio practice before heading into the kitchen to survey the damage with my mom.

She’s standing at the counter blocking the coffee pot, which means we actually need to talk if I have any chance of getting my caffeine this morning. I clear my throat awkwardly and she turns towards me, hastily wiping away a stray tear from her cheek.

“Oh!” She says, her tone telling me she’s surprised that I’m standing in the kitchen.

“Morning,” I mumble. She takes a step back from the counter, giving me enough room to get a mug from the upper cabinet and to pour the hot coffee. I feel her eyes on me the entire time.

“When did you get home?” She asks. I know she’s wondering if I heard her and Dad fighting again.

“I don’t know; it was really late. I fell asleep watching a movie with Santana.”

It’s a little bit of a stretch, but judging on how her night went, I doubt she’s about to question what I was doing. She nods absently and stares back down at the tiled floor.

There’s obviously going to be a lack of interaction this morning, which is honestly fine by me. I rummage through the cupboard and come out with a protein bar and I grab an apple from the bowl on the island for my breakfast-on-the-go. Santana texts me to say she’ll be here in 5 minutes so I run upstairs to grab my bag and she pulls into the driveway right as I’m tying my sneakers.

I yell to my mom that I’m leaving for practice before prancing out the front door and slamming it into the heavy wooden frame behind me, separating me from the dark cloud that is hanging over the house right now. 

It’s not really any better once I get in Santana’s car. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes when she looks at me and I know she’s dreading practice as much as I am. It’s a quiet drive to the school and we pull into one of the front spots. Santana kills the engine, but we sit there for a few minutes, not wanting to venture into the locker room together after what happened yesterday.

“I’ll meet you in there,” Santana says softly as she sees Stacy’s car turn into the parking lot. 

I hop out and make my way into the locker room, quickly spinning the lock and depositing my bag before taking off for the field. So far, so good. I’m the first one on the field and I jog a couple of laps to get the blood flowing as my teammates start to trickle in. Practice technically doesn’t start for another half hour, but Coach will run you until you die if you’re not at least ten minutes early. I see Santana walk out of the building amongst the others. Usually she’d come join me just as an excuse to get five extra minutes near me, but I’m not surprised when she sits down on the grass and starts stretching with Brittany and a few others instead.

I hear Coach before I see her. The piercing shrill of her voice through a megaphone has become part of my daily life since the first day of tryouts last year, but I still hate every second of it. I grit my teeth and slow down to a walk as I reach the group.

Coach is still in a foul mood from yesterday, but I’m kind of grateful that she hardly gives us a second to breath for the entire three-hour practice. It keeps me far away from Stacy, who spends most of practice bossing a group of juniors around even though she’s doing the routine wrong and Santana, who just looks miserable and is moving like a robot.

After practice I take my time showering and changing while keeping a tab on where Santana is. She texts my phone from the other end of the locker room telling me that she’s going to the car now and that I can just meet her there. As I start to type back my response, I notice Stacy standing right in front of me.

“What can I help you with?” I say with an overload of fake sweetness bleeding into my voice. I flash my winning smile and drop my phone into my bag before planting my hands firmly on my hips.

“You’re going to go to Coach and resign from your captaincy,” Stacy says simply. Her eyes are fiery, daring me to say no so that she can run and tell the entire school about Santana and I.

“Oh yeah?” I respond, rolling my eyes. “And you think I’m going to run to her right this second so that you can still go spill my secret all over school?”

I pull a notebook and a pen out of my bag and start writing. Stacy looks really confused but doesn’t say anything. I finish it by signing the bottom, leaving out the “L” in front of Quinn like I normally write it. Wordlessly, I pass the notebook to Stacy.

I watch with my lip trapped between my teeth as she scans the words on the page.

“You want me to sign that if you quit your captaincy that I’m legally sworn to secrecy about the fact that you’re muff diving on Lopez?” Stacy asks incredulously.

“I’ll hold up my end if you hold up yours,” I respond simply, shrugging my shoulders. “And if you leak the information against this contract, I will literally make your life a living hell, whether I’m captain or not.”

Stacy contemplates for a moment before yanking the pen out of my hand and scribbling her signature on the bottom. I toss the notebook back into my bag.

“I’ll talk to Coach on Monday,” I say curtly before pushing past her and heading out to where Santana is waiting for me in her car.

Santana is drumming on the steering wheel with more energy that I can muster when I collapse into the passenger seat. She eyes me for a second but decides not to comment as we sped out of the parking lot. We’re halfway to her house before I finally pluck up the courage to tell her about my conversation with Stacy.

“I’m resigning from head Cheerio on Monday,” I offer nonchalantly. Santana hits the brakes with more force than necessary as we roll up to a stop sign. My body jerks against my seatbelt before I’m thrown back against my seat. She turns to look at me, waiting for me to continue. “I have a written agreement from Stacy that she’ll forget about what she heard if I give up my captaincy.

“You can’t do that, Q. Coach will flip out and who the fuck even knows if Stacy will stick to her side of the bargain anyway.”

A car honks behind us, urging Santana to move away from the stop sign. She does so reluctantly; her knuckles are white with how tightly she is gripping the steering wheel as we pull into our neighborhood.

“Whether she spreads rumors or not, we still will have enough power to make her life a living hell. It’s worth taking the shot in order to make all of this disappear.”

Santana’s jaw is still locked in frustration, not wanting to give into Stacy’s ridiculous ploys. But we don’t really have another option and I need this to all just fade away.

Her house is empty when we get home and Santana immediately links her fingers through mine and strokes her thumb along the back of my hand soothingly. I automatically calm at her soft touch and I let her lead me into the living room, falling on the couch beside her with our hands still intertwined.

“I don’t want you to have to do all of this for that bitch,” Santana growls, her hand gripping mine tighter.

“It’s a million times better than being tossed out on the street,” I respond, the seriousness of the situation starting to seep to the surface.

“I’d never let that happen to you,” Santana whispers after a long pause.

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just squeeze her hand for a moment before releasing my grip and wiping my sweaty palm on my shorts.

“I’m going to do it, San. It’s my only choice.”

Santana is tightlipped, but she finally turns her head to look at me. I plead with her silently to not fight me on this. Santana is not good at sitting back and not fighting, but I’m praying that she’ll swallow her pride for the sake of both of us.

“If she goes against her word…”

Santana doesn’t even finish her sentence, but I know that it’s her way of saying that we’re in this together and that Stacy better be on her guard despite the weak contract we have. I lean over and kiss her cheek before sinking down and resting my head on her shoulder with a sigh. Now, we just need to make it until Monday.

~!~!~!~

I skip glee on Monday afternoon and head straight to Coach Sylvester’s office after Spanish before Mr. Schue can stop me. I knock authoritatively on the door, refusing to show even an inkling of weakness around Coach.

She barks for me to enter and I stride in with my hands on my hips and my shoulders back. My uniform is clean and pressed, my shoes don’t show any scuffmarks, and my ponytail is perfectly done. I know I’m exactly the image that Coach wants in a head Cheerio and despite the current situation; I’m going to maintain that image.

Coach doesn’t even bother to look up from the notebook she’s scribbling in, so I walk over to the front of her desk and sit primly on one of the chairs there and don’t waver. Eventually she glances up and smirks, knowing I’m one of the only people that wouldn’t speak before being told to.

“What brings you down here, Q? Aren’t you supposed to be building dreams on rainbows in glee club right now?”

“That is sort of what I want to talk to you about, Coach. Glee takes up a lot of time and I’m president of the Celibacy Club, and…”

Coach raises her hand and I immediately stop talking.

“I don’t need you spewing off your entire, pathetic resume. Why are you in my office whining about how lame your extracurricular choices are?”

“I think being captain of the Cheerios is taking up too much of my time and not allowing me to balance my commitments,” I say quickly, forcing myself to make it sound as true as possible.

“Your grades are impeccable. You pulled off the entire Chastity Ball. You sway perfectly in the background as Streisand belts out show tunes. And yet you never miss a practice and you’re always early and leave late. You like being captain and you’re damn good at it, Fabray. So if this is your ridiculous ploy at weaseling your way out of your commitments, then I don’t accept.”

I bite my lip and stare right at her. She’s already looking back down at what seems to be her diary.

“Coach, I never wanted to be captain. Stacy is a senior and she’d actually dedicate the time necessary to lead us to another National Championship.”

“You did fine getting us there last year,” Coach replies. “Plus, Stacy has no qualities of being Head Cheerio. She cries every time I yell at her and if her dad hadn’t donated money to our fund to take those circus acrobat lessons she wouldn’t have even made my squad.”

“I can’t handle being Captain if I’m going to actually make it out of this cow town after graduation. I need to focus on keeping my grades up without the extra distractions.”

“Fine, if you want to just give up something that is guaranteed to let you escape Lima, that is your decision. Tell Santana that she can have your spot and I expect her to be warming up the team when I get to practice today. Now get the hell out of my office, Fabray.”

My jaw is on the floor, but I know that the damage is already done. Santana is the new Head Cheerio and Stacy is going to murder the two of us. Glee is halfway over, so instead I text Santana the bare details of my meeting with Coach and head for the locker room.

Santana appears five minutes before the bell is scheduled to ring and flies up to my locker, where I’m reorganizing its contents in an attempt to deal with my thoughts and worries. Next to me on the bench lays the piece of paper I had Stacy sign. Nowhere on it does it say that I will ensure that she gets the captaincy; just that I resign from my position. It’s a loophole and it’s the only way we’re going to make it out of this without her ruining our lives.

“What the fuck happened?” Santana demands in a low whisper.

“Coach plays the game better than any of us. But congrats, Head Cheerio,” I try to joke, my chuckle getting stuck in my throat.

“I don’t want to be Head Cheerio. She makes your life miserable and you’re actually freaking good at it.”

“Well, we don’t really have an option now so just deal with it. And try to exhaust us at practice so Stacy won’t have the energy to murder us afterwards, okay?”

The bell rings through the locker room and Santana gives me a pained glance before disappearing around the row of lockers to get ready for practice.

I stall for a while in the locker room, letting some of my teammates head out to the field before me. It’s the first time in a year that I haven’t been the first one on the field and it’s kind of refreshing to take my time. Santana is barking at people already on the field and most of the girls seem terrified of her. There’s a reason that she’s always been my natural second-in-command.

I join in without complaint despite the awkward glances coming from my teammates. Santana grins at me when people look away and bite down my own smile as I line up on the track with the others.

Stacy meanders out to practice two minutes before Coach is expected to show up. Santana blows the new whistle that Coach must have given her on her way out to the field and everybody freezes. I stiffen, hoping against all hopes that you’re not going to make a big deal about Stacy being late in front of the entire time because it’s not going to help our situation.

You thankfully pick up on my brainwaves and pause only long enough to instruct us on the next drill. Stacy looks at you like you’re crazy before turning to look for me. I’m standing amongst the throng and try to blend in with the identical Cheerio uniforms surrounding me. She zeroes in on me with absolute fury burning through her.

Coach appearing on the bleachers with her megaphone saves me. She yells at us to set up to run through our newest routine while also yelling that Santana and I are switching spots in the pyramid. Stacy is still glaring at me as she puts the pieces together that Santana was officially the new Head Cheerio.

Practice is long and exhausting. I had forgotten how much it sucked to have knees digging into my back during the pyramid, but at least Santana was light and she really tried her best to lean her weight on her left knee into Meredith’s back instead of mine.

I walked back to the locker room with Brittany and a couple of others, keeping my radar on Stacy the entire time. As soon as I reached my locker after my shower, she was sitting there waiting for me, still completely dressed from practice.

“What the actual fuck, Fabray? We had a deal,” she hisses at me, crossing her arms over her chest as she stands to look at me eye-to-eye.

“I resigned from Head Cheerio. That was the deal,” I say icily, pulling on clean underwear underneath my towel and pulling a sports bra over my head before hanging the towel up in my locker.

“And you think giving Santana your spot fit into our deal?”

Stacy was absolutely seething and I knew this could end up being really ugly. I continue to face my locker and breathe deeply before responding in an attempt to not completely blow up in her face.

“I don’t have the power to pick who the next Head Cheerio is. If you have a problem with it, take it up with Coach Sylvester. I did what you asked and I expect that you will maintain your end of the deal.”

I hate how much I sound like my manipulative mother. I’ve watched her have similar conversations a million times so that she could always have a situation play out the way she wanted. Judy Fabray might not stand up to my father, but she had the Women’s Coalition wrapped around her pinky from these antics.

I turn to catch a glimpse of Stacy’s face and she’s nearly purple with rage. My stomach tightens in a hard knot, expecting her to start shouting my secrets through the locker room and hallways.

“You’re a fucking bitch,” she spits at me before stomping away.

I breathe a little easier that she hasn’t already started rampaging, but I don’t have much hope that the knowledge won’t be floating all over the school by tomorrow morning. I’ve learned to be manipulative, but Stacy has always been that way. She doesn’t like to be outsmarted and I knew she wasn’t just going to accept defeat that her plan had backfired on her.

The next few days are eerily quiet at school. There is a little buzz over the fact that Santana has replaced me as Head Cheerio, but overall nobody seems to really care about the reason why. We’re still as close as ever and present a united front, so the rumors that she backstabbed me disintegrated quickly.

Not having the stress of being Head Cheerio was pretty nice though. I took my time between my last class and practice and left for the locker room as soon as the final whistle blew. The other girls stopped treating me so much like I was going to bite their heads off and we would laugh together as we ran warm-up laps.

Santana is more stressed out as a result; Coach has been putting even more on her than she had ever put on me. I think Coach was pushing her to quit the position so that she could force me back into it. But Santana continued to take it like a champion and I would massage her shoulders as she read off vocabulary words to me at night, easing the tension that builds in her muscles all day.

On Friday night we make an appearance at Puck’s, but bail early when I see Stacy drinking heavily and throwing herself at some freshman football player. I try to stay out of her line of vision so that her drunken word vomit doesn’t spark by seeing my face.

We hardly stay an hour before Santana agrees that we can bail. It’s only nine o’clock, so I pull onto the highway and head away from Lima. We cross and Santana turns up the radio, singing along on our impromptu mini road trip. I pull into a small diner off the main stretch in a town about forty-five minutes outside of town.

Santana looks at me curiously as to why we’re here, but goes along with it, hopping out of my car and striding into the nearly deserted restaurant. The hostess leads us to a booth with a gleaming top. I slide in on one side and Santana takes the other before the hostess drops a menu in front of each of us. We thank her quietly and Santana folds her hands over her menu, waiting for me to explain why we’re here.

“My old house isn’t far from here and they have the best chocolate milkshakes around.”

I flip open my menu and scan the options. It’s been forever since I let myself splurge calories on something like a chocolate milkshake.

When the waitress comes over to the table, Santana immediately orders two milkshakes and a plate of cheese fries and dismisses her before I can add a side salad to the order. She grins knowingly at me and reaches under the table, brushing my knee with her fingertips.

My face grows warm under her quick, hidden touch and I’m immediately grateful that we were out of Lima for a few hours. After the week we’ve been having, it felt nice to not be under the watchful eye of our classmates.

We make small talk, occasionally letting our knees graze under the tabletop as we wait for our food. It finally comes and I take a sip of my shake and hum approvingly at how amazing it tastes. Santana giggles at my reaction before taking a sip of her own and doing the same. She pulls a fry from the pile on the plate between us and holds it out to me. I take a quick glance around the nearly deserted diner before leaning forward across the table and accepting it with my mouth. She grins at me before popping on into her own mouth.

We sit at the diner, laughing and talking and draining every drop of our milkshakes until around midnight, when we realize that we should head back to town. I text my mom to tell her I’m going to stay at Santana’s even though she probably doesn’t even realize I’m out. My dad has hardly been around since their fight last week; mom keeps saying that he’s working late and that it’s budget season, but in reality I think there’s a lot more going on than they’re sharing with me. I feel bad at the thought of my mom sitting in that cold, dark house alone, but it doesn’t stop me from driving my car straight towards Santana’s house.

Saturday is filled with blueberry waffles and lounging on the couch while watching bad Netflix movies that make us laugh way too loud. I feel locked away from the world and it feels safer than anything else has all week.

Around dinnertime, I stop home to shower and grab clean clothes before returning to Santana’s. But when I arrive, there’s a rental car in the driveway. I park my own car next to it and walk up to the house, pondering who could possibly be here.

I hear voices in the den when I walk into the foyer and I hang my keys on the hook before heading towards the back of the house. My sister and her boyfriend are sitting on the couch with their arms crossed on their chests. My mom is sitting in the stiff armchair, her eyes looking sunken into her pale flesh. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days. And in his recliner, sits my dad. He’s dressed in a suit like he just got home from the office even though it’s a Saturday and his hair is perfectly combed. Where my mom looks like death, my father looks more alive than I’ve ever seen him.

My mom gestures for me to sit down with Frannie, who is gripping Mark’s hand and flips her gaze from my mother to my father at dizzying speeds. I sit primly on the edge, feeling the tension from the room sink into my body.

“There’s no use dragging this out,” my father speaks up, standing from his chair with his Scotch in hand. “I’m divorcing your mother. I met someone else and I’m moving to Akron to be with them.”

I watch Mark’s hand tighten on my sister’s. I should probably be upset and angry, but really I’m surprised it took this long. It didn’t seem to be the best kept secret that my dad was unusually fond of his secretaries over the years.

“Daddy…” my sister started, looking distraught at the idea of not having the perfect family anymore.

“It has nothing to do with you, Sweet Pea,” my dad says soothingly, walking over to my sister and leaning to stroke his fingers across her cheek. Mark’s jaw tightens and he looks like he wants to knock my dad’s teeth out for doing this to my sister.

I take the opportunity of my dad swooning over his favorite daughter to look at my mom. She has tears streaming down her face, but she makes no attempt to hide them or wipe them away like she normally would. She was broken and didn’t care to fix it.

“I’m staying in Lima with Mom. I don’t want to see you.” My words ring out and I feel four pairs of eyes snap in my direction. I only meet my mom’s and I give her a weak smile, trying to convey that we’re in this together. She hasn’t always been the best mother, but being here with her would always be infinitely better than watching my dad replace us with his new ideal family.

Without looking at my dad, I get up and stomp up out of the room and up the stairs to my bedroom. I decide to go about doing what I had planned in the first place when I came home from Santana’s house. I take my time in the shower, standing under the water until it starts to get cold. Afterwards, I change into sweatpants and a t-shirt emblazoned with the McKinley logo. I blow dry my hair and pull it back in a loose ponytail and text Santana to inform her that I’m spending the rest of the weekend at her house before packing up my books and clothes for school on Monday.

I can hear the hushed voices of my torn family in the living room, obviously wondering what to do about the irrational teenager. I make sure to slam the front door loudly when I leave and I drive over to Santana’s even though it’s nice enough to walk the few blocks.

There’s a plate of leftovers sitting on the counter for me and I smile at the comfort that I’m always taken care of when I’m here. Santana wanders in the kitchen a minute after me and takes the plate from me and tosses it into the microwave, hitting the reheat button. I take a glass down from the cabinet and pour myself a glass of juice and place it on the island. Santana gestures for me to sit and when the microwave timer goes off, she collects the plate and drops it into the place in front of me.

“What took so long if you didn’t even eat at home?” Santana inquires curiously. Usually I can shower and get back to her house in half an hour and that includes the inquiry from my mother about my whereabouts.

“My dad is ditching my mom for some slut in Akron. They brought Frannie home just to tell us that he’s leaving,” I respond with a shrug.

Santana’s eyes go wide at my nonchalance about my family splitting up.

“I don’t really know what’s going on besides that because I then announced that I’m staying in Lima with my mom before storming out.”

“Holy shit, Q. I’m so sorry.”

I shrug again. It’s been a crappy week and the stuff with my parents is just the icing on the cake. But I have until after school on Monday before I need to return to the house. My dad will probably be gone by then and my mom seems to know me well enough to know that she’s better off leaving me alone until I return on my own.

Santana takes the hint that I don’t really want to talk about it, but she grabs a pint of Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer and a spoon from a drawer before we head for the basement. I’m happy to spend the evening with my feet perched in Santana’s lap. She randomly feeds me spoonfuls of Half Baked, our favorite flavor to share because I love the chocolate chip cookie dough bites while she favors the fudge brownie pieces. I smile at how caring she is as she digs through the layers and extracts the cold bites for me, holding out the spoon for me to take them between my lips.

I feel taken care of with the simplistic routines of her saving me my favorite parts of the ice cream and how she rests her forearm casually against my shins that are sprawled across her lap. When the ice cream carton is empty, she drops it with the spoon onto the end table and rolls the legs of my pants up, letting her cold fingers drag along my bare calf. She kneads the flesh lightly, working from my ankle up to my knee before moving to the other leg and doing the same thing. I forget about the movie that’s playing and watch her fingers dance along my skin instead. She’s moving absentmindedly as she watches the movie, but her fingers move with gentle grace as they smooth the tiny knots in my muscles. I realize I’ve never taken the time to really notice the ordinary things about Santana like how slender her fingers are or how she bites at the corner of her lip when she’s thinking.

The title screen of the movie is playing on a loop when I wake a few hours later. My neck is stiff from the way I’m laying on the couch and I blink rapidly to try to stop the burning in my eyes from not removing my contacts. Santana’s head is tossed back against the couch and her mouth hangs open as she snores softly. Her hands are resting on my ankles and her feet are tucked beneath her. As peaceful as she looks, my back can’t handle spending the entire night in this position, so I begrudgingly shake her awake.

She hardly opens her eyes, but gets the hint and we walk up both flights of stairs to her bedroom before slipping under the comforter and cuddling up together on the soft mattress. The mixture of Santana’s perfume and my own perfume lingers on the bed, making me feel more at home than my actual house ever has.

I forget that Santana goes to church with her grandmother most Sunday mornings, but I stir when I feel her climbing out of bed as quietly as she can. It’s just before eight and I’m groggy from a rather sleepless night.

“Sorry. My abuela is going to be here in like an hour,” she apologizes as she gathers up her towel.

“Can I come?”

I don’t want to return to my own house and I’d be depressed if I just sat around in Santana’s room until she got up now that I’m awake.

“Uh, if you want to,” Santana responds, a hint of surprise in her voice. It doesn’t sound like she has ever taken a friend to church with her. Despite all of the sleepovers since they were kids, I don’t think that Brittany ever shared this piece of Santana’s life.

I nod once to confirm that I do and she gives me a half-smile before tossing a towel at me. I head into the guest bathroom and shower. It’s quick and I beat Santana back to her bedroom. I don’t know how formal her church is, but I don’t have anything packed that would be dressy enough for my own church. I pull on clean underwear and wait for Santana to return.

She pretty much reads my mind when she returns and walks right over to her closet, pulling open the huge doors and exposing hundreds of outfits. She flips through them before pulling a hanger out containing a simple blue short-sleeved dress that is more modest than Santana’s typical wardrobe. I smile gratefully and pull it on. It’s a little tighter than something I would normally wear, but it falls to about an inch above my knee respectfully.

Santana dresses herself in leggings with a much shorter and tighter dress and covers her bare shoulders with a white half jacket. She’ll probably be the most stylish person at church for the early mass on a Sunday.

We have a quick breakfast of Froot Loops and orange juice before we hear Santana’s grandmother laying on the horn in the driveway. I walk towards the front door, but Santana grabs my hand and spins me, holding onto my arms and looking into my eyes.

“I apologize in advance for anything my abuela does. She’s abrasive and rude and usually refuses to speak much English.”

“So she’ll love me?” I joke nervously, trying to get Santana to loosen up.

Santana raises her eyebrow at me and bites her lip. I doubt her grandmother could be that bad, but I make sure to walk with a respectful distance between us down the front path. Santana jumps in front of me to open the door to the back door and lets me climb in before closing it and climbing into the front seat.

Her abuela turns around in the driver’s seat to stare at me. I try to smile and look politely back at her.

“Who are you?” she barks at me.

“Ella es mi amiga, abuela,” Santana interjects.

“I’m Quinn Fabray, ma’am,” I respond politely, holding my hand out to her.

“Are you Catholic?” she asks, her eyes flitting down to the cross dangling on the gold chain around my neck.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Without another word, she turns back to the steering wheel and puts the car into gear. Santana has to suppress a giggle at my bewildered glance before she faces front again too.

The ride to church is only ten minutes and I actually enjoy listening to Santana and her grandmother speaking rapid Spanish. Santana’s tone is exasperated and I catch random words as her grandmother lectures her on the need to meet a nice Catholic boy and about how Santana’s cheerleading skirts are a sin. Santana looks grateful to have arrived at our destination and she scrambles out of the car. I follow her lead, taking in the large white church. It’s in a part of town I haven’t been through much since I moved here. It’s an old building, but is fancy and ornate like all of the old Catholic churches. We follow Santana’s grandmother towards the front entrance. I’m amused by how small she is; Santana and her mom both have slight builds and now I know where they got it from.

The service is long and not particularly interesting, but it’s cool to be in a different church. Santana’s grandmother seems to approve that I know the routine of the service pretty well and I don’t give into Santana’s playful nudges when she’s not paying attention to the sermon.

During the ride home, her grandmother complains about everything she hated about today’s sermon, which is pretty much all of it. I stay tight lipped in the backseat and Santana argues with her mildly, I think just to rile her grandmother up. It wasn’t the most enjoyable morning in the world and I’m relieved when her grandmother pulls back into Santana’s driveway. Santana leans over the console and kisses her grandmother’s cheek before we get out of the car.

There’s a note on the counter informing us that Mrs. Lopez and Max will be out for the day and Mr. Lopez is working. There’s a couple of twenties on the counter with the note, telling us to get ourselves pizza or something for dinner. Santana pockets the money with a grin and grabs her car keys from the dish by the garage door, gesturing me to follow her.

“Where are we going?” I ask. I’d follow her either way, but I’m still curious.

“We need food,” Santana responds. “We ran out of ice cream last night.”

Despite my best efforts, we come back with bag after bag of junk food. Santana vetoed my selections of carrot sticks and fruit salad. I feel guilty for letting my diet slip after how much hard work I’ve put into maintaining my weight. 

Santana has no qualms about it; she stuffs a handful of cheese balls into her mouth, leaving a trail of fake cheese powder down her chin in the process. I wrinkle my nose when she tries to lick it off, but that just spurs her onto sticking it out towards me and requesting I get it off for her in her flirty tone.

I grab a napkin from the counter and swipe it across the orange smear and she giggles happily at my disgust. It’s hard to not smile with her though because despite being a complete pig, she is still adorable.

The afternoon and evening fly by with us enjoying having the house to ourselves. I convince her to do at least the bare minimum of our required assignments shortly after we eat lunch and it leaves us the rest of the day to just relax and have fun. Mrs. Lopez and Max get home around nine and we sit in the living room and catch up with her for a while before Santana informs her mom that I’m staying the night again. Mrs. Lopez looks between us, but doesn’t object to me staying over on a school night.

We wake up on Monday morning to a beautiful spring day. In a week, AP exams will be over and in six weeks, school will be let out for summer vacation. I can feel how close we are to getting to relax every single day for two solid months. Like always, we dress in our uniforms and drive together to school.

Homeroom and first period fly by and feel completely normal. Teachers are as exhausted as we are and classes are starting to gear up for final exams, but mostly I spend my time doodling and glancing out the window at the sunshine-filled day.

When the bell rings after first period, I walk into the hallway and there’s a shift. People’s eyes are following me, some of them even turning to continue to stare. A few times I hear people making pig noises in the distance and I glance down my body quickly to make sure that I don’t look any different. Even with all of the junk food yesterday, my Cheerio uniform fits the same as always.

Santana grabs my arm just as about I am about to walk into my English class and drags me forcefully into the nearest bathroom. A few empty threats from the Head Cheerio later, and we’re alone. I hear the late bell echo out in the distance.

“I’m late for class, San,” I say, worried about what could possibly be more important than reviewing for the AP Exam that is only days away.

“You need to read this first,” Santana says seriously and thrusts a copy of today’s Muckraker into my hands.

The headline is bold and large as usual, but it seems to stand out more than usual. Secret Lives of Cheerleaders: Meet Lucy Caboosey.

Underneath there is a picture of me from seventh grade in all my hideous glory. Next to it is my Head Cheerio picture from last year’s yearbook photo.

“This can’t be happening,” I say in disbelief, ripping the newspaper open to the article inside.

“Quinn…” Santana says softly, reaching for my arm. I twist away from it.

“No, this really cannot be happening.” I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the cold tile with the newspaper held up in front of my face. Santana seems to be holding her breath as I skim through the article that is way too accurate for my comfort level. “I’m going to fucking kill Stacy.”


	16. Chapter 16

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Santana soothes, squatting down next to where I’m sitting on the bathroom floor. She rests her hand on my forearm and holds it firmly like it might keep me from falling apart. It’s a little too late for that.

“I’m f-fine,” I insist. I try to brush the tears off of my cheeks, but they keep falling in hot, wet streaks. “I need to go to English.”

I try to stand up, but Santana is holding me in place. I want to fight her to let me go, but I just don’t have the energy. My limbs go dead again and I slump back against the wall.

“Let’s get out of here,” Santana states. I know she’s not really asking me because I’d refuse adamantly to miss class so close to AP exams. But there’s not much choice; I know that I look like a wreck and I’m not going to learn anything in class anyway.

Santana stands and holds her hands out to me to help me up. I let her use her brute strength to pull me up because I feel like a lead block. I can’t stop picturing the headline of the stupid school newspaper.

Before I can really register what’s going on, I’m in the passenger seat of Santana’s car and she’s whipping out of the school parking lot. For a fleeting moment, I feel free from the hell that is high school. She takes me across town to her favorite deli and leaves me in the car to fix my makeup and she goes inside to get us food. A few minutes later, she exits carrying a paper bag with a bottle of Diet Coke tucked under her arm. She gets back into the car and opens the bag, passing me a wrapped sandwich before dropping one into her own lap. She yanks out a bag of Doritos and pulls it open, balancing it on the console between us. I start unwrapping my sandwich and she reaches back into the paper bag and hands me a fistful of napkins.

We eat in silence, Santana munching on an Italian sub with Doritos inside and I nibble at my turkey and cheese with bacon. I feel the slightest bit happy at the fact that I didn’t even have to tell Santana what kind of sandwich I wanted; she knows me well enough to pick for me. Every once in a while, Santana reaches over to grab the bottle of Diet Coke and takes a big swig before dropping it back into the cup holder.

When her sandwich disappears, she crumples up the wax paper and puts it into the paper bag, wiping away the Doritos crumbs at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. I haven’t even made it through half of my sandwich. Santana doesn’t scold me to eat, but she waits patiently, typing away at her phone instead.

She looks over at me on occasion until I finally wrap up the remainder of my sandwich. She gathers up the trash and hops out of the car to dispose of it as I finish wrapping up my leftover sandwich. When she returns, she looks at me, her eyes full of concern. I know she wants me to talk about everything, but I just can’t do it.

“I texted Puck about the article and he’s making sure that the football guys stay away from you,” Santana says, breaking the awkward silence between us. I know that she really means that Puck is running interference with the guys that would love the opportunity to toss a slushie in my face and dethrone me even further. Deep down, I hope he has enough power to keep them in line because I really can’t handle any further embarrassment. Santana is pretty good at keeping people under her thumb, so I just have to rely on my hope that it’s enough for now.

I give Santana a weak smile of gratitude and she reaches over to squeeze my hand reassuringly. It’s a simple gesture, but she knows it’s all I can handle right now. She squeezes one more time before turning the key in the ignition and starts heading back in the direction of school.

We pull into her normal spot and she lets the car idle for a few minutes as she checks her own makeup and reapplies her lip-gloss. I give my own makeup a once over, cleaning up the smudges left behind from my tears. My heart is pounding at the idea of returning to class, but I know we can’t afford to cut school for the entire day.

I hear the bell ring in the distance. Glancing at the clock on Santana’s dashboard, I realize that lunch is just beginning. Santana kills the ignition, but doesn’t move until the late bell rings out. She opens her door and gestures for me to follow.

I know Santana won’t lead me into the cafeteria considering that it’s the easiest place to have all of the attention from the entire school on you instantaneously. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and follow her towards the side doors near the choir room. It’s a door we’re not usually allowed to use during school hours, but Santana extracts a master key that she must have gotten with her Head Cheerio promotion. I used to have one just like it.

What I’m not expecting is to see Sue Sylvester standing in the hallway right inside the door, obviously waiting for us.

“Lopez, Fabray. My office. Now.”

She turns and is gone before we have an opportunity to respond. I hear Santana exhale loudly before heading in the same direction that Coach just disappeared in.

Coach Sylvester is already seated behind her desk when we enter her office a couple of minutes later. She looks furious and getting in trouble for cutting is about the last thing I want right now. Santana slips into the seat closest to the door, forcing me to take the other seat. I know that this isn’t one of those meeting that we’ll be playing footsie during.

“Any reason why you’ve become a headline today, Fabray?”

It’s my chance to rat out the bitch that is Stacy Declan. But if I rat her out, Coach will drag her in here to interrogate her and there’s a good chance that Stacy will tell Coach all about what Santana and I do in the locker room after hours. It’s one thing to ruin my own future, but I don’t want to drag Santana’s reputation down with me.

“People are always trying to ruin the reputation of people that intimidate them,” I respond through gritted teeth.

“Any idea that would be out to destroy your reputation in particular?” Coach asks, leaning forward on her desk and staring at me. I gulp under her unwavering stare but hold onto my secrets.

“At least half of the school, give or take,” I respond, adding a mirthless chuckle.

“It’s Stacy Declan,” Santana announces. I immediately kick her, which causes her to grimace, but she doesn’t stop spilling the beans to Coach. “Stacy is pissed at Quinn that she didn’t get the captaincy when Quinn resigned.”

“And how did she know that you were resigning, Fabray?”

The question is directed at me, but it’s Santana that chooses to answer.

“She got some major dirt on Quinn and was blackmailing her into giving up the captaincy so that she wouldn’t give away Quinn’s secrets. But then you gave me Head Cheerio over it and she thinks that Quinn told you to do that as a loophole in their agreement.” I kick Santana again out of frustration and she squeaks softly in pain.

“Very well. Both of you get out of my office.”

The discussion was obviously over, so we stand and leave Coach’s office. The bell rings, signaling that lunch is over so Santana and I run to our lockers to get our books for our afternoon classes before heading to math.

Before the last period of the day, I wait up for Santana and Brittany at my locker so we can all walk to glee club together. As I turn, I’m completely blindsided by a hard slap to my left cheek. I see a flash of light brown hair before I’m fighting back, pulling the Cheerio ponytail hard and throwing her towards the ground.

“You fucking bitch!” Stacy growls, hopping back up to her feet and landing a punch to my ear. All I can hear is the pounding of the blood in my ears and I start swinging wildly, randomly making contact with Stacy’s body. 

Before I can register what’s happening, Puck’s arms are wrapped around my waist and he’s pulling me back from Stacy. The adrenaline is coursing through my veins and I strain against his hold to get back to killing Stacy.

“You ruined my life, you stupid pig!” Stacy shouts from where she’s being restrained by two other football players and Santana. “Coach kicked me off Cheerios because you ran to her crying because I let people see the real Quinn. Or should I say Lucy?”

“Actually, that was me,” Santana adds with an amused laugh. “And as captain of the Cheerios, I very much agree with Coach’s decision to get rid of the deadweight on the team.”

A few of the football players chuckle at Santana’s insult. Stacy tries to pull out of the grip of the guys, but fails. Mr. Schue comes marching towards us, yelling at the students around us to clear the hallway. Eventually it’s just down to a handful of us and Mr. Schue escorts Stacy to the main office, leaving the others to scatter. I gesture for Santana to go head to the choir room and she does so hesitantly, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I slide onto a bench at the end of the hallway, taking deep breaths and I try to convince my body to calm down. My eyes fall closed as my heart starts to calm down.

“I’m sorry that your reputation has been ruined, Quinn. I know what that feels like.”

Through my growing headache, the shrill voice of Rachel Berry rings through loud and clear. I sigh and force my eyes open to see her standing directly in front of me.

“What do you want, Berry?” I say unhappily, rubbing my temples in an attempt to soothe the pain in my head.

“I just thought you could use some support from a person that knows what it’s like to be uncool.”

“No offensive, but even with everybody knowing about my past, I’m still a Cheerio and you’re still an annoying nobody.”

“What is the point of claiming to mean no offense when you wouldn’t bother saying it unless you actually meant to offend me?” Rachel asks. I groan loudly.

“Seriously, just go away. My head is killing me and I have Cheerio practice in half an hour.”

“Your headache probably has something to do with the black eye that Stacy Declan gave you.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious. Just go boss people around in glee club and leave me alone.”

Rachel moves and sits on the bench next to me instead of following my command. It’s infuriating that she’s the one person in this school that I have absolutely no power over and I have no idea why that is.

“You’re going to need the people from glee more than ever now, Quinn. You’re no longer Head Cheerio and now people know that you’re not the perfect girl that we’ve all wished we could be for the past two years. People aren’t going to look at you the same after this and you’re going to need the people that actually care about you. I think Stacy has made it pretty obvious that the Cheerios aren’t reliable friends.”

“Why the hell do you care so much about what happens to me?” It’s surprising how serious Rachel seems to be about becoming my friend through my fall from high school royalty.

“Because I know you didn’t just join glee because of Finn. You certainly wouldn’t have stayed in glee after your breakup if you didn’t care at least a little bit about glee club. It’s a place that we can all be ourselves away from the pressures of high school and you deserve that as much as we all do even if you’re not at the bottom of the social pyramid. Just by caring about glee, even if it’s just a little bit, you’re one of us.”

“How do you deal with the daily abuse? I can’t even make it through one day of this hell.” My voice is small and weak. I hate being vulnerable around Rachel Berry.

“I just keep in mind that no matter what they do, they can’t hurt my talent. I’m going to get out of this place and I’m going to make a name for myself and all of the bullying in high school will make me an inspiration to my fans when I discuss it in my interviews.”

“You sure have everything figured out, don’t you?” I ask with a weak laugh.

“It’s easier to focus on the future than worry about how miserable the present is. Just find what inspires you, Quinn.”

Rachel stands up and holds out a hand to me. I hesitate to take it but ultimately do so, figuring it’s better than offending her when she’s been trying to help me.

Mr. Schue isn’t in the choir room when we arrive and I allow myself to be hugged by most of the glee club members. Kurt shoves a bottle of lotion into my palm, assuring me that it’ll help the bruise that is forming around my left eye. Everybody seems to be crowded around me besides Santana. I catch a glimpse of her standing on the outside of the circle awkwardly, letting the others fawn over my injuries.

The bell rings and I try to catch up with Santana, but she disappears before I can escape from the crowd. We have Cheerios, so I know I’ll see her in a few minutes, but I was hoping to get a couple of minutes with her before reaching the locker room. Brittany is standing by the door, waiting patiently for me. She grabs my backpack from the floor and holds it out to me before leading the way to the locker room.

Brittany can be overbearing with her nonsensical babble sometimes, but she is really good at reading people. I’m grateful when she walks quietly beside me, happy with her role as my silent companion. When we get to the locker room doors, she gives me a quick one-armed hug before darting over to her locker.

I can hear the whispers from my teammates floating around me. More than once I hear my own name thrown around in their hushed conversations. Word travels fast here so I’m figuring they are all aware of my fight with Stacy already.

As soon as my practice sneakers are laced up, I head out to the field, sticking my headphones into my ears and cranking up the volume. Santana is stretching on the far side and I drop my bag on the sideline before jogging in her direction. She gives me a shy smile when I stop in front of her. I stretch too so that nobody will question why we’re huddled together on the far end of the field as they start wandering out to practice.

“Nice shiner you’ve got there,” she comments, pointing towards my swollen eye.

I touch the tender skin lightly and I feel the surge of pain radiating from the area. I wince under my fingers.

“Coach isn’t going to be pleased,” I reply.

“It will be one of the rare occasions that she turns the other cheek,” Santana says seriously, bending over to reach towards her toes. I’m given a perfect view of her ass in spanks as the flaps of her skirt fall forward. It’s enough to make my mouth go dry. “Here come the troops.” It’s Santana’s gentle way of telling me that people are going to see me staring at her ass.

Coach does choose to ignore the giant bruise painted over my eye. However, she subjects the entire squad to Stacy’s major offense of embarrassing a Cheerio. They all avoid glancing in my direction and I try to not cringe through the entire ordeal. I’m relieved when we’re sent into position to run through one of our new routines.

I let Santana drive me to her house after practice, but I only stay long enough to gather my belongings. She doesn’t ask me to stay and I appreciate that small gesture of understanding that I’d much rather be at her house than deal with everything at my own. I know I need to go home and face the music.

She glances into the living room where Max is sitting on the couch and texting on his cell phone. Seeing that he’s otherwise engaged, she leans in and gives me a quick peck on the lips. I feel warm from her tiny display of affection and it gives me enough willpower to walk out the front door and get into my car.

My dad’s car is missing from the driveway when I pull in. I’m hoping that means he’s gone for good because I really don’t think that I can handle being around him after the day I’ve had.

The first thing I hear when I open the front door is the sound of my mother’s sobbing. They’re so loud that even though she’s shut up in her bedroom I can hear them clearly in the foyer. My heart sinks at how she must be hurting, but I have no idea what I can do to fix it.

I take a shower and put on makeup to attempt to cover up my black eye. There’s no need to upset my mom any further by enlightening her to the fact that I got into a fight at school. As soon as the bruise is mostly hidden, I make my way to the kitchen. There’s hardly anything in the fridge, which is completely unlike my mom. Feeding her family has always been one of her number one priorities, but I guess with the absence of my dad, she doesn’t really know what her purpose is anymore. I fish around in the freezer until I find some frozen vegetables and chicken cutlets. I’m not really great at cooking, but I Google a simple recipe and throw it together.

The final product looks ugly, but I sample it and it tastes okay. The sobbing from upstairs has died down a bit and I take it as my opportunity to approach my mom. I throw a plate of chicken and vegetables onto a tray with some silverware and I pour her a glass of water. It seems safer than giving the emotionally unstable woman her normal glass of wine that goes with dinner.

She doesn’t answer when I knock timidly on the door, balancing the tray on my forearm as I do so. I decide to just go in anyway. Immediately I feel nauseous. The shades are pulled tightly over the windows, making the room really dark despite the fact that it’s not even nightfall outside yet. The floor is covered in piles of clothes and used tissues. Directly next to my mom’s side of the bed are four empty wine bottles. In the middle of the bed lies my mother, the blankets pulled up to her chin and her cheeks stained with the trails of millions of tears.

I push a pile of dirty tissues off of the nightstand and drop the tray of food onto it before reaching onto the bed and pulling down the blankets. My mom sobs at the motion and automatically reaches to pull them back up. I stop her arm.

“He’s not worth all of this, mother,” I say sternly. “He’s a scumbag and you’ve always deserved better.”

My mom opens her eyes and glares at me. I can smell the stale alcohol on her breath. I think she’s still drunk.

“Don’t talk about your father that way,” she states. I think it’s more out of habit than because she really believes that I am out of line.

“No. We both deserve more than he’s ever given us. Now you’re going to eat something and then we’re going to clean up this room because I refuse to let you rot away amongst your own filth.”

My mom makes no motion to move from her spot in the bed where she’s curled in fetal position.

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Sit up and eat the damn food I made.”

It’s a little sickening how my mom responds to orders. The last twenty-five years of her life have revolved around fulfilling my father’s demands. But she’s propped herself up and she lets me move the tray onto her lap. I watch as she pokes at the food for a second before glancing at me, moving the fork full of green beans towards her mouth.

Bite after silent bite disappear from the plate and some of the color starts to return to her face. She sips the water thirstily. It’s probably the first thing she’s had since I left on Saturday that doesn’t contain alcohol.

“Thanks, Quinnie,” she says softly, her tone full of shame for what she’s become.

“You should probably teach me how to cook,” I say with a laugh, hoping that I can pull one out of her too. No such luck.

Since humor obviously isn’t going to work, I coerce her into the gigantic master bathroom and I run a steaming bath. Thankful that she’s not fighting me, I leave her alone in the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack so I can hear what’s going on within. I toss armfuls of clothes into the hamper before walking around with a trash bag, picking up the wine bottles and tissues and the other accumulated debris. It’s nearly an hour before she appears in the bedroom again with her body wrapped in a towel. I walk over and kiss her cheek, say goodnight, and leave the room with the tray carrying the remnants of dinner.

I heat myself up some of the remaining chicken and vegetables and force it down before cleaning up the kitchen and starting the dishwasher. I’m exhausted but I need to study. As I crawl into bed in the wee hours of the night, my eyes burning from reading, I hear the sobs pick up down the hall. With a sigh, I pull down my headphones and try to drown out the horrible sound.

When my alarm goes off in the morning, I contemplate taking a mental health day. School is the last place on Earth that I want to be, but staying home doesn’t sound very appealing either. I drag my tired limbs from the comfort of my bed and pull on the uniform that attracts too much attention for my current state. It’s either wear the uniform or deal with the wrath of Coach and anything is worth avoiding Coach.

Santana and I drive to school separately because I’m running late and I don’t want to hold her up. I force my mom out of bed as I’m leaving, pulling back the shades and letting the room get washed out by the bright glow of the sun. She groans and tries to pull the blankets over her face, but I tear those off of her too. Finally she gives in and accepts the English muffin with jam and the mug of coffee that I brought up for her. I kiss her cheek quickly and slip out of the door before she really has a chance to respond.

I’m late for homeroom, but Mr. Schue doesn’t make a big deal of it. I see his eyes flicker up to where the makeup is covering my black eye and I hate that I can feel his pity boring through me. My classmates whisper with all of the latest gossip and I just turn the volume up on my iPod and stare at the wall until the bell rings.

Santana is flanking my side the second that I exit the classroom. I eye her curiously, but her intent is obvious as soon as we turn into the main hallway. Everybody is straining to look at me, but when Santana’s glare reaches them, they quickly turn away and pretend to be busy getting their books from their locker. She’s trying to protect me from the gossip fallout from the newspaper article. Santana waits beside my locker as I get my books and then walks us to our class, sliding into her seat beside me and glaring at anybody that has the nerve to look in our direction.

I head into English early with Santana beside me. She says goodbye at the door and takes off for her own class. I slip into my seat and busy myself with pulling out my books

Class is spent frantically scribbling facts and book themes, which helps me ignore all of my classmates. My teacher talks all the way until the bell rings and it’s a frantic rush to get out of class. I take my time in putting my books into my bag. Santana isn’t waiting for me outside of class, so I head to my locker and drop my stuff off before heading in the direction of the cafeteria.

I glance around for her inside, but she’s not at our normal spot. I walk towards it anyway, but I’m stopped in my tracks by four hockey players. Clutched in their hands are dripping cups of slushie in a variety of flavors. I gulp once before their arms pull back and I’m showered in freezing cold corn syrup.

Reaching up, I try to clear my eyes from the stinging. It’s futile in the middle of the cafeteria, but I can’t convince my legs to turn and run away. Before I can really think about what to do, I feel an arm wrap around my waist that pulls me away from the boys and towards the exit. Behind us, I hear an explosion of angry Spanish. It’s Santana to my rescue once again.

It’s Brittany that pulls me from the cafeteria and washes slushie syrup from my eyes. She talks soothingly, but within a minute we’re interrupted by the frantic chatter of Rachel and Mercedes entering the room. Rachel has her slushie emergency kit with her and she immediately starts pulling supplies from it. Brittany blocks me from Rachel, but I tap her side, telling her it’s okay. I let Rachel and Brittany wash the slushie out of my hair and I pull off my ruined Cheerio top. Coach is going to kill someone over this. Rachel offers me a plain WMHS gym shirt and I accept it gratefully and I slide it over my head as soon as I have washed away the remnants of blue slushie from my chest.

Mercedes gives us a running commentary about what happened once we left the cafeteria. Apparently both Santana and Puck had gone completely ape shit and Mr. Figgins had to interfere before Santana killed someone. I smiled a little at Santana’s protectiveness, but I still felt miserable.

The bell rang and I shooed my friends to their respective classes, assuring them that I would be fine. I took my time soaking my Cheerio top in the sink, watching as the swirls of colored corn syrup disappeared down the drain. It was nowhere near perfect, but I hoped that Coach would go after the boys instead of me.

Glancing up in the mirror, I catch a glimpse of Lucy. It is brief, but it is enough to freak me out. My face is still thin, my complexion perfect. It is my eyes that give me away; they are the one thing that exercise and surgery couldn’t change.

I wander into class ten minutes late with a forged pass, which the teacher doesn’t even glance down at before ushering me into my seat. Santana looks relieved that I’ve turned up. She’s taking notes for once and I know she was doing it for me more than for herself.

One of my worst nightmares happens that afternoon in glee. Rachel leads the rest of the club in an uplifting song in my honor to make me feel better about my fall from power. I’m being accepted by the biggest losers in the school and it’s a reminder that they are the only ones that actually care about me in this hellhole. I choke down the tears and try to accept the fact that my life was becoming exactly what I had been trying to avoid when we moved to Lima.

I make myself scarce around school for the rest of the week, darting between classes and avoiding the cafeteria at all costs. Seeing that little glimpse of Lucy beneath the surface has pushed me to work out twice as hard as normal and I spend most of my lunch periods doing sprints out on the field. By the time I fall into bed at night, but body and mind are completely exhausted, allowing me to sleep relatively soundly.

Coach cancels Saturday practice at the last minute, leaving me with nothing to do. Logging into my Facebook, I see that I have a new message. My stomach immediately drops with dread. It’s the third one I’ve gotten this week and the other two have been jokes about my Lucy picture from the cover of the Muckraker. As expected, it’s some senior boy making a joke at my expense. I knew that I was kind of a bitch as Quinn, but I tried to not be flat out mean. Apparently that didn’t matter when the tables turned and knocked me off my pedestal.

I can’t stop the tears from falling. All week, I’ve held them in and kept my head held high. I have avoided feeling anything at all costs, but in this cold, empty house I finally break.

Sobs wrack my body hard and feel my chest tighten uncomfortably.

“Quinnie?”

I sniffle once and try to wipe my face quickly. Alas, my mom is standing in the doorway before I have a chance to hide the fact that I was crying.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, moving into the room and sitting lightly on the edge of my bed.

We’ve always avoided talking about emotions. I don’t really know how to open up to a woman who pretty much always told me to conceal my issues so that others would never see my weaknesses.

“Quinn, what is going on?” my mom prods again, her voice actually full of concern.

“A girl at school wanted my spot as Head Cheerio and when she didn’t get it, she released pictures from my eighth grade yearbook and had information from when I was Lucy.”

My cheeks burn red with my shame and embarrassment. It’s a very simplistic version of the events from the past couple of weeks, but it’s all I can handle sharing with my mom right now.

“Oh, sweetie,” mom says and reaches her arms out to me. I stare at her and survey her gaze. This isn’t how things normally go between my mom and I.

I allow myself to be enveloped by her protective arms awkwardly on the end of my bed. We sit in silence, my mom rocking me slightly as my tears slide down my hot cheeks.

“Don’t let some jealous girl get you so down, sweetie. You’re incredibly talented and smart and beautiful. People are always going to try to tear you down because they’ll never actually be able to reach your level.”

It’s about the last thing I expected to hear from my mom. I had mentally prepared for a speech about staying away from dramatics so that I don’t tarnish the family name. Maybe my dad leaving will end up being good for us.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say genuinely, letting myself hug her back.

“It’s what a mom is supposed to do. I just forgot that somewhere along the lines. But it’s just you and me now and we need to be there for one another.”

My eyes well up with tears again. I know it’s not a pinky swear or anything, but it’s a promise from my mom that she’s going to be there when I need a mom. She’s not Mrs. Lopez with her bubbly personality and easygoing manner, but she’s making an actual effort.

She pats me once on the back, indicating that we’ve hit our limit for affection for the time being. I sit back, letting her arms fall from around me. She gives me a smile and announces that she’s going to make lunch for us on her way out of my bedroom.

A week later, we’re national cheerleading champions. By the time Santana collects the trophy from the judges and we load everything back on the bus, every muscle in my body is screaming in pain. Coach worked us harder this week than ever before and I’m glad that the season is finally over.

The bus ride back to Lima is filled with gossip about tonight’s celebratory party. Drinking and being around the jocks is about the last thing I feel like doing on the last weekend of the school year. Santana climbs over the bags piled in between the seats until she reaches the back of the bus where I’m sitting alone with my headphones in and a book in my lap.

She yanks the headphones from my ears and I glare at her. She gives me an impish smirk and settles down next to me in the seat. Giving a quick glance around to make sure that our teammates are occupied, she leans in closer to whisper in my ear.

“Do you actually want to go to this party tonight?” she inquires, keeping her voice out of earshot of the other girls. I give her a swift shake of my head immediately. “Then let’s skip it.”

“San, you’re the captain. Everybody is going to expect you to be there,” I hiss through my teeth.

“Exactly. I’m the captain. Meaning I call the shots and I’m not going to this lame ass excuse to drink crappy beer surrounded by people I don’t really like. Plus, tonight is the glee girls’ sleepover at Berry’s.” She whispers the last part directly into my ear to be sure that we’re not overheard.

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?” I ask with a giggle. The Santana I met that first day of Cheerios would never have chosen hanging out with the school losers over making an appearance at a party that would help her maintain her high level of popularity.

“I’ll text her right now,” Santana said, pulling her phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt. I watch over her shoulder as she informs Rachel that we’ll be at her lame ass slumber party as long as we won’t be forced to watch any movie musicals. Rachel responds almost immediately stating that all movie decisions will be left up to a majority vote, but that she pretty much only owns musicals so Santana might want to bring some other options over.

We spend the rest of the ride listening to my iPod together, each of us with one earbud in. I let Santana flip through, choosing songs at random. Every once in a while she breaks into singing along with the lyrics and Brittany turns around in her seat in front of us and laughs when Santana attempts to rap along with Nicki Minaj. Everybody is in high spirits from the win and for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like my world is unraveling.

I duck into the locker room to clean out my locker for the summer and I let Santana boss everybody else around about put the equipment away. We’re out of the gym before anybody else and we race to her car, giddy with the prospect of breaking the mold tonight.

Santana swings by and picks me up to go to Berry’s house after we’ve showered and packed. Puck is incessantly texting me to try and convince Santana to change her mind and come to the party. When I shoot that down, he starts in on trying to get invited to the girls’ night. Santana grabs the phone from my hand as we pull up in front of Rachel’s house and presses the call button on Puck’s name.

“You’re not getting laid tonight, Puckerman. Just give up already!” She hits the end call button and tosses the phone back into my lap with an amused grin.

We grab our overnight bags and pillows from the backseat and walk up the pathway to Rachel’s front door. Neither of us has actually been here before tonight, but as soon as the door swings open to reveal one of Rachel’s dads, the image is exactly what I had always imagined.

He’s a tall black man dressed nicely but understated in his white button down shirt and dark jeans. He welcomes us in with a megawatt smile that shows all of his straight, white teeth. Rachel’s house is basically a museum dedicated to music, Barbra Streisand, and, most importantly, Rachel herself. The walls are covered in pictures of Rachel at various competitions hugging trophies or posing in her costumes with her dads. There’s a gleaming baby grand on the far side of the formal sitting room with a cushioned bench facing towards the dining room table. The house is completely set up for the dinner theater performances Rachel so often references.

Rachel appears as Mr. Berry leads us into the kitchen where the other Mr. Berry is mixing a pitcher of lemonade. She looks nervous about having us in her house, especially when Santana tosses her bag into Rachel’s arms and otherwise practically ignores Rachel’s existence. Thankfully Mercedes and Kurt show up a few minutes later and Rachel takes us down into their basement.

Again, I’m not surprised by what we find down here. Half of the basement is similar to my own with storage and laundry, but the other half has been transformed into a stage complete with bedazzled microphones that are hooked up to a surround sound system. On the far wall, a massive television is mounted to the wall and there are built-in shelving units underneath it.

Santana immediately flops down on the couch and kicks off her flip-flops, making herself completely at home. Rachel buzzes around her, not sure what to do now that the two of us are actually here. Mr. Berry (the white one this time) comes down the stairs with a tray loaded with snacks and the pitcher of lemonade and informs us that the pizza has been ordered and should be here within the hour.

My stomach growls in anticipation and I realize that I haven’t eaten since breakfast because I’m always too nervous to eat before a big competition. Mercedes offers me the tray and I grab a handful of grapes, popping them into my mouth in rapid succession. Tina shows up and Rachel finally calms down enough to sit on the loveseat with Kurt.

It’s easier to be around these girls (and Kurt) than I had ever imagined. There is no need to worry about appearances considering Rachel is wearing a polka dotted blouse that looks like something I’ve seen a grandmother wear and Tina is sporting purple streaks with her gothic all-black outfit. None of them judge Kurt when he admits to have spent his Friday night watching a marathon of Project Runway while trying out a new moisturizing routine or when Mercedes tells us about her sex dream about the new waiter at Breadstix who is at least ten years older than us.

Rachel’s dads pop in and out, refilling our drinks and making sure we’re all well fed. I always snap immediately into super-polite Quinn around adults like my father trained me. The Fabrays are all about image and it’s a habit that isn’t worth breaking. Santana is blunt and crude, even when Mr. Berry and Mr. Berry are around. I spend half of the evening elbowing her in the ribs to cut off her inappropriate comments.

After dinner, Rachel’s dads announce that they’re going to go to a movie and bid us all goodnight before leaving us alone in the house. As soon as we hear the thud of the front door closing behind them, Santana jumps up from her spot on the couch.

“You know what this means, right?” she asks the group excitedly. Kurt looks around, completely confused, hoping that someone else has an answer. Rachel reaches over to the coffee table to grab her typed itinerary for the evening.

“We still have about half an hour until it’s time to vote on the first movie selection,” Rachel responds, reading from the paper in her hand.

Santana responds with a loud snort. She’s out of range for me to slap her into behaving.

“Good guess, Hobbit, but I was thinking more along the lines of making this into a sleepover that is actually fun.”

I watch her as she glides across the room to her overnight bag and pulls out two full bottles of liquor.

“Well, that explains why Puck wanted in on the festivities,” I mumble under my breath. Rachel’s eyes get comically wide.

“Santana, we are absolutely not drinking! My fathers will be home in a few short hours and they are trusting us.”

“Relax, Berry. Just a few shots to loosen up and then we can braid one another’s hair and do whatever else is on your ridiculous list of acceptable slumber party activities.” Santana walks back towards the group with the liquor still in hand and grabs her own half full glass of lemonade. She unscrews the cap of the vodka bottle and tops off her drink with it. “Anybody else?” she asks, holding out the opened bottle.

Surprisingly, Tina is the first one to grab for it. Rachel is stammering, not sure how to stop the underage drinking in her parents’ basement. After Tina, Mercedes and Kurt each add a little bit to their own lemonades. Kurt pushes the bottle into my hands and I slosh some into my glass. The only one left is Rachel, who is standing on the other side of the coffee table with her hands planted firmly on her waist.

“Rach?” I ask softly. I’m sure the peer pressure is getting to her a bit; Rachel has a strong need to fit in. I put the bottle down on the coffee table, giving her the option to just ignore it or to go with it.

“Oh, what the hell? I’ll need these life experiences when I’m writing my memoir after I clinch my EGOT.” I watch as Rachel picks up the bottle and adds some vodka to her own glass. I almost comment at how much she puts in, but it’s already too late by the time I get my mouth open. Santana is wearing her shit-eating grin and she takes a big gulp from her own glass and settles back onto the couch beside me.

Within the hour, Tina is spilling her darkest secrets, Mercedes is laughing uncontrollably at anything and everything, and Kurt and Rachel are dancing and singing on the stage. Santana winks at me and gestures towards the stairs. She announces that we’re going to the bathroom. Nobody pays us any mind as we disappear together.

Santana pins me against the wall in the hallway and kisses me hard. I giggle against her lips, feeling all of the alcohol going directly to my head.

“San, we can’t do this here,” I squeak out between her frantic kisses. She ignores me, pressing her hips into my mine as I lean against the wall, the edge of a picture frame digging into my shoulder blade.

My focus is completely on Santana pushing her tongue roughly past my lips that I don’t even hear the approaching footsteps.

“Oh my gosh.” The high-pitched squeal from Rachel Berry causes me to shove Santana away from me. I wipe my mouth hastily with the back of my hand and turn to face her with my best HBIC stare.

“What do you want?” Santana asks, drawling out the words and taking a step towards Rachel. Rachel takes a step back nervously.

“N-nothing. I was just a bit surprised to see you two engaged in that particular activity. I mean, I have two gay dads and I met a lovely lesbian couple when I went on the Rosie O’Donnell cruise with my fathers, so I understand more than most of our peers about how sexuality is fluid. Is this just because you’re drunk and want to explore the limitations of your sexual prowess?”

I slap a hand over my face, causing Rachel to end her monologue even though she obviously has more to add.

“I swear to God that I will ends you if you tell anybody about what you witnessed. And that means I go straight for your nose, got it?”

Rachel’s hand immediately goes up to protect her oversized noses from Santana’s threatened attack.

“You know, Glee is the one place in high school that you can be yourself without anybody caring. You might need to hide from the rest of the world, but you don’t have to hide from us.”

I see Santana clench her jaw, but she moves to let Rachel pass. I lean my weight against the wall, my heart still pounding from getting caught.

“I need more vodka,” Santana states, leaving me with no choice but to follow her back downstairs.


	17. Chapter 17

A heat wave sweeps through Lima as soon as we’re let out for summer vacation. Santana is in her glory and happily spends her days reading magazines in her lounge chair while wearing extremely skimpy bikinis. By the end of the first week her skin is already deeply tanned and she shows it off by wearing a low-cut halter dress to the first big party of the summer.

I watch her flirt with some boys that go to St. Andrew’s, the Catholic school a few towns away. Despite the heat, the blonde one that keeps touching her arm is wearing his green and white letterman jacket. Santana laughs at him and casually shrugs out of his grip. I turn my attention back towards Brittany, who is rambling about her upcoming trip to the Grand Canyon with her family to a timid girl that looks like she doesn’t know how to escape from the conversation.

When I glance back across the pool, the St. Andrew’s boys are still standing there but Santana is no longer in sight. I fight my instinct to search for her, but our obsession with being attached at the hip keeps causing us to lose control. Instead, I take a swig from the blue concoction that Puck made me when I had arrived (alone, exactly fifteen minutes before Santana). 

It’s impossible to ignore how the crowd parts in front of me, giving me a renewed view of Santana in her skintight white dress. Finn is standing with a red cup and his arm looped over Rachel’s shoulders, but his eyes are glued onto Santana’s chest. I want to shove him and tell him what a sleaze he’s being, but again I turn back to my drink to control my impulses. Rachel seems oblivious to her leering boyfriend; she just seems happy to be included in a big party like this one.

I wander away from Brittany, citing that I need another drink, even though my cup is still half full. The liquor is on a folding table up by the house, meaning I’m walking away from Santana. I’m not head cheerleader anymore, but it’s still nice to notice that I turn a fair share of heads as I push through the groups of jocks and drunken girls.

Puck miraculously appears at my side as soon as I reach the liquor. I’m pretty awful at mixing anything beyond a rum and coke, so I let him take my cup and watch as he pours from a couple of bottles and tops it off with Sprite. I take a sip and grimace at the strong taste of vodka. Puck pats me on the back and smirks at my expression. I don’t push his hand away, taking comfort in the small circles he’s rubbing between my shoulder blades.

I spend the next hour hovering near Puck and laughing as he repeatedly gets turned down my girls. He’s really got no game beyond mixing drinks and flashing his impressive abs, but the girls hardly give him the time of day as soon as he starts trying to show off. Every once in a while I catch a glimpse of Santana as she chats with random Cheerios and cute boys. All night, I haven’t seen so much as a shot in her hand, but her eyes are twinkling with happiness as she works the room.

Around midnight my phone goes off and I yank it out of my purse, swiping my thumb across the screen to read the message from Santana.

Ready to get out of here?

I look up to see her standing about ten yards away, looking at me with a shadow of a grin on her lips. I nod at her rather than respond and she walks towards me purposefully. Immediately the scent of her perfume sweeps over me and I feel at home again. She shouts a quick goodbye to a handful of people and tells them that she’s taking me, the drunken girl of the evening, home on her way. 

People don’t seem to think twice as we weave through the crowd and exit the yard through the side gate. Santana keeps her arms swinging loosely at her sides, her cheeks rosy from the warm summer air and she walks with a bounce in her step. Her car is parked a block away and we walk side-by-side in comfortable silence.

It takes all of my effort to wait until we’re behind the closed door of Santana’s bedroom before I attack her with my lips. She groans and drops her purse, allowing her hands to grasp my waist tightly. Santana tastes like spearmint gum as her tongue rolls against mine, kissing me with feverish intent.

I moan and pull her in tighter as she kisses down my jaw and starts sucking lightly on my neck, nipping with her teeth.

“Mmm, I think Rachel is right,” Santana mumbles, her breath hot against my skin.

“About what?” I ask, throwing my head back against the door to give her more access to my bare flesh.

“Coming out to the glee club,” Santana responds, dragging her teeth down to where my neck meets my shoulder.

That effectively ruins the mood for me. I nudge Santana’s mouth away from my neck and she gazes up into my eyes curiously.

“You want us to come out?” I ask incredulously, horrified that Santana actually took Rachel seriously a couple of weeks ago.

Santana immediately looks at her feet when she realizes we’re not on the same page on the issue at hand. I cup her chin and tip her face back up to mine, stroking her cheek gently with my thumb.

“I’m not ashamed of you, Santana.” Apparently I hit the nail on the head, she perks up slightly as I assuage her worries. “You know that I think you’re amazing.”

“It’s just the glee losers,” Santana says hopefully, gauging the reaction of my look before slumping her shoulders again.

“San, I’m not ready for it to get out. You know how they are! Nothing stays a secret between them for more than a couple of days and I can’t afford for them to blab to someone like JewFro and have my mom find out.”

“Yeah, they gossip about stupid crap, but they’re not going to tell the whole school if they know that we’re serious about it staying between us. I mean, most of them are still terrified of us and considering that they hardly ever get slushied anymore because of me, they kind of owe me to keep this to themselves.”

I bit my lip and think about what Santana is proposing. It’s only a dozen people and most of them have pretty much no social standing beyond glee, which puts them at the bottom of the heap. Santana’s words and mine would always overrule theirs if it came down to it. But it still wasn’t a chance I was willing to take right now.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” I know that Santana is disappointed, but she tries to smile and nods at me, nuzzling into my hand that’s resting on her cheek. “We can talk about it again before school starts up in the fall.”

The previous urge to need my mouth on every inch of her skin is replaced by the need to be held. We get ready for bed quickly and then slide under the covers, snuggling close together in the large bed. Santana falls asleep first, her little snores comforting as I grip her tighter and try to let my mind rest.

Fourth of July is a big holiday with the Lopezes. As always, Mrs. Lopez has planned for a big barbeque with all of Santana’s relatives and some friends. Santana decides to invite the glee kids over for it and we spent the first three days of July helping Mrs. Lopez prepare for the party.

By the time people start showing up midday on the Fourth, the backyard is full of tables covered with festive tablecloths and the smell of cooking meat from where Mr. Lopez is manning the grill on the far side of the deck. Santana’s little cousins head straight for the pool, cannonballing into it and splashing one another playfully.

I’m wearing a simple navy blue and white sundress over my bathing suit (red for the patriotic occasion) and a plain pair of white flip-flops. Santana, on the other hand, is prancing around the pool deck in a bikini top decorated to look like an American flag and has a short, red sarong wrapped around her waist that falls no longer than her knee. As she walks, it sways with her, tightening over her ass when her hips move with each step.

I’m grateful for the arrival of our friends to distract me from staring at Santana’s body in front of all her relatives. We all settle at a table as far away from Santana’s aunts and uncles. Most are dressed simply like I am; the boys are all wearing board shorts and t-shirts and Rachel and Tina show up in jean shorts and tank tops with the strings of their bathing suits peeking out around their necks. Mrs. Lopez urges us to eat as much as we want and the boys dive at the table, loading paper plates with potato salad and hot dogs.

Santana saunters over, her sexy smirk plastered on her face as she walks barefoot across the cool grass to our table. I force myself to pretend to be busy with opening my can of soda as she slides into a metal folding chair directly across from me.

“Where’s the booze?” Puck immediately asks her through a mouthful of cheeseburger. Santana wrinkles her nose at him.

“First of all, repulsive. Second of all, you need to wait until my relatives leave and then we can start spiking our sodas, but as it’s one in the afternoon, I don’t need people being sloppy messes before sundown.”

Puck starts to argue that he would never be sloppy, but Santana silences him by standing up and untying the knot that’s holding her sarong in place. It falls to the ground, leaving her tanned thighs exposed.

“I’m going in the pool. Any takers?” 

Brittany immediately jumps up from her seat at the end of the table and yanks off her tank top and shimmies out of her tiny shorts to expose a bathing suit rather similar to Santana’s. Mike and Matt agree to join and they jump into the deep end on a run, soaking her little cousins and making them all start to giggle.

I watch Santana splash around with Brittany, not worrying if they grab onto each other’s bare waists as they thrash around in the water. Every public touch between Santana and I has to be carefully calculated with the current audience in mind, but her relationship with Brittany has always been filled with lots of physical contact and nobody seems to even notice when they’re entwined in one another’s arms. Puck and Finn finish their burger and go to join them, Puck pulling his t-shirt off and immediately flexing his muscles at Santana and Brittany and Finn self-consciously keeping on his loose-fitting rash guard to cover his less than flattering upper body.

It leaves Tina, Rachel, and I sitting at the table and I listen in on their conversation, munching on the mini pretzels that are sitting in a bowl on the middle of the table. Rachel is going on about her summer dance and acting classes and the singing lessons she takes year-round. In all honesty, I’m impressed with her dedication to her craft; her summer schedule revolves solely around performing arts, but it takes up more time than my typical school schedule does. Tina is spending the summer babysitting twin boys that live next door to her and I can’t help but laugh at her stories of all the trouble that two five year-olds can manage to get into. They’re probably not the girls I would have singled out as being my good friends, but when Rachel isn’t fighting for solos, she’s actually pretty interesting to talk to and behind the gothic makeup, Tina has a great sense of humor and a knack for storytelling.

I squeal when I feel cold droplets of water hit my bare shoulders as I’m in the middle of telling Rachel about the art exhibit I want to see at Columbus Museum of Art. Santana is leaning over me, her long hair dripping onto my shoulder and dress as she leans across me to grab her soda. She makes a point of grazing my arm with her fingers as she leans back and it gives me chills. I wish I could grab her hand and hold it against my warm skin, but her touch is gone before I have a chance to act irrationally.

By the late afternoon, we’re all in the pool and I can’t remember the last time that I have felt so carefree and happy. We play chicken fights and Marco Polo and let ourselves act like kids for once. None of us emerge from the water until every finger and toe is pruny and our stomachs are growling. The evening is spent eating and watching the boys’ set of firecrackers on the street in front of Santana’s house while her cousins linger along the edge of the grass watching in awe.

Once Santana’s relatives leave and the boys’ stockpile of fireworks are depleted, we lounge on the cool grass in Santana’s backyard and sneak vodka into our cans of soda and watching the flashes of color that light up the sky from all over town. My knee casually brushes Santana’s as she fidgets beside me, reaching for the bottle of vodka that Puck has hidden under his towel. I watch as she takes a gulp directly from it before chasing it with the soda in her other hand. 

“This is lame. Let’s play truth or dare!” Puck exclaims, yanking the bottle back from Santana and adding more to his own drink.

There’s a general murmur around the group over the suggestion, but when nobody flat out refuses, Puck hops to his feet excitedly and points at Finn.

“Truth or dare, man?”

The game is mostly filled with the boys challenging each other to eat gross combinations of food for the first couple of rounds, but as people continue to drink, it gets more intimate. Most of the girls choose truth and blush as they answer various questions about their sex life and what boys they think are cute at school.

After Puck takes Sam’s dare of recounting his most vivid sex dream - about one of the younger substitute teachers nonetheless – Puck turns to Santana with a knowing smirk.

“Truth or Dare, Lopez?”

“Dare,” Santana challenges back. She’s the first girl to not take the cheap way out.

“Make out with Brittany for five minutes.”

In all reality, it’s a simple enough dare. It’s something that pretty much everybody in the room has seen at some time or another. Brittany is already sliding onto her knees to crawl across the circle to where Santana is sitting. But just from the side profile, I know Santana is frozen in place. Her shoulders are tense and she stares at Puck, who is still smirking at her, glad at the direction the game is going.

“I’ll drink instead.”

Santana is trying to ease out of the question with a common occurrence at parties. Most of the guys pull this move if they are ever dared to kiss one another and people just go with it.

“You’ve done it a million times. C’mon, Santana,” Puck pushes.

I sit frozen beside her, waiting for her next move. Brittany is on her knees in the center of the circle; unsure as to whether she should head towards Santana or back to her own patch of grass next to Tina.

“I said I’ll drink,” Santana responds through gritted teeth.

But Puck doesn’t give up even when Santana chugs the rest of her drink and throws the can at his head, hardly missing hitting him in the face. Rachel gasps and covers her own nose like she’s Santana’s next target for projectiles.

“Your turn, Santana,” Brittany states definitively, trying to ease the tension between Santana and Puck.

“Bullshit, she didn’t fulfill her dare yet,” Puck challenges, staring pointedly at her.

“Just give it up, Puck. It’s a stupid fucking game in the first place.” I didn’t really want to get involved, but it’s impossible when Puck is being such a horny asshole to my girlfriend.

“Jealous I requested she kiss Brittany instead of you?” Puck remarks, turning his attention to me instead of Santana. I feel the flush immediately take over my cheeks and I’m sure even in the dim light of the backyard that it’s blaringly obvious.

“Leave her alone, Puckerman,” Santana seethes, reaching over to put her hand on my knee protectively.

“Need to save your girlfriend from a little harmless teasing?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Puck’s jaw drops, not knowing if Santana is playing him to get him to drop it or if she’s being serious. The rest of the group sits frozen, their eyes darting between Santana’s hand on my knee and Puck’s confused gaze.

“San…” I whisper, but it’s loud enough that everybody can hear. It’s pleading, hoping she’ll just drop it and put an end to the game before she really outs us to the whole group.

Her hand squeezes my knee briefly before pulling away.

“I’m not doing this crap with you. Have a little fucking respect when someone tells you no for once.”

Santana is on her feet now with her hands clenched in tight fists. Puck, of course, doesn’t even think before opening his mouth to retort.

“What crawled up your ass and died? I thought this was supposed to be a party!”

“It’s Santana’s decision to deny the dare. Considering she fulfilled the consequence adequately, I believe it makes it her turn,” Rachel intercedes, adamantly refusing to look directly at Santana.

Santana turns quickly to leer at Rachel for getting involved, but her features quickly melt in gratitude. They harden again before she turns back to Puck.

“And I say this game is fucking over,” she says authoritatively, glaring harshly at Puck. Brittany crawls awkwardly back to her spot in the circle without a word.

The mood becomes very subdued after that as we just sit and talk. Santana hardly contributes and I watch her fingers as she plucks blades of grass from the lawn and builds a little pile. She hasn’t bothered to get herself a new drink since throwing her can at Puck.

A little after midnight everybody finally decides to call it a night. Santana gives brief hugs to everybody besides Puck, who stands awkwardly a couple feet away from the group holding his towel and waiting for Finn and Sam. Santana is silent as we bag up the remnants of the party around the backyard. I work alongside her in equal silence, the conversation with Puck rattling around in my head. There’s no point in pushing Santana to talk about it all before she brings it up herself, so I let it all sit over us like a dense cloud.

Santana leads me wordlessly up to her bedroom, her fingers stiff between my own. It makes me feel like we don’t fit as perfectly as usual and my chest tightens at the thought. I force myself to shake it away. We change out of our bathing suits quickly, facing away from one another like we’re in the locker room. Santana is tucked into a little ball facing the wall under the comforter before I even finish pulling my t-shirt over my head. I crawl in behind her, draping an arm over her waist and pulling her tightly against me. Her body relaxes just a fraction and I take that as a small victory.

I wake up the next morning to the smell of pancakes and bacon. Santana is perched on the end of the bed with a tray of food balanced on her knees. She gives me a sheepish grin as I wipe the sleep from my eyes and move to sit up against the headboard. Santana shifts the tray onto my lap and moves closer to me, swinging her legs up onto the bed.

“Why aren’t we having breakfast with your family?” I ask curiously as I pour syrup over the pancakes. They smell fantastic.

“They’re all sleeping in today and I thought you deserved a thank you for not hating me after how I acted last night.”

“Why would I hate you, San?” I say genuinely.

“I pretty much outed both of us after you sort of told me that you’re not ready for that step.” I can see the remorse painted on her features as she stares at the wall, purposefully avoiding my eyes.

“Maybe we should just tell them and get it over with.” I had been up most of the night thinking about it. “I mean, Rachel already knows and it won’t be long before the rest of them catch on.”

Santana turns her attention from the wall to study my face. I’m scared that all of this could backfire and put us in a bad situation, but it would be nice to be ourselves around some people once in a while outside of Santana’s bedroom.

“I don’t want to do this unless you’re one hundred percent ready for it,” Santana comments, reaching over to grab a strawberry from the tray on my lap.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be completely ready,” I confide. “But we need to do it anyway. It’s getting too difficult to hide this from everybody, especially our friends.”

Santana smiles at me and nods, obviously agreeing with my reasoning. She moves closer and snuggles up against my side, resting her head on my shoulder.

“We’ll see if the moment arises,” she says softly. Peacefulness washes over the room as Santana finally relaxes, her body molding against my side. I push the tray off my lap, leaving most of breakfast uneaten, but I’d rather kiss my girlfriend.

~!~!~!~

“Quinnie, where are you going?” I’m halfway through the foyer to the front door when my mom’s voice rings out from the kitchen. I pause.

“I have plans with Santana and Brittany today!” I shout back, gazing longingly at the shiny brass doorknob that marks my escape.

“Alright, but I want you home for dinner tonight, please.”

I grumble under my breath and finish walking to the front door.

“Fine!”

I’m in my car before my mom can get another word in. Part of me knows that she’s not trying to difficult, but it’s weird having a mom that actually seems to want to see me after getting used to having two parents that only cared to have me around for appearances.

Santana is in her backyard already when I show up. Her skin is gleaming with a fresh coat of tanning oil and her dark hair is pulled up into a bun on top of her head to make sure that her neck and shoulders are getting full sun exposure. I admire the sight of her oiled up abs as I walk slowly across the grass from the fence gate.

When my flip-flops hit the surface of the deck, Santana pushes her sunglasses onto her head and smiles at me. She looks so relaxed and carefree that I just want to climb onto her lounge chair and kiss her, but Max and his two friends are on the other side of the pool shooting each other with water guns.

I settle for the chair next to hers and I drop my tote bag between us, fishing out my sunglasses and the novel I’m currently reading. Santana doesn’t say anything but glances over at her brother and sighs before dropping her sunglasses back of her eyes and settling into her chair again.

As soon it hits 5 o’clock, I know that I better head home to help my mom with dinner. Santana tries to convince me to call her and get out of it, but it’s not worth pushing her buttons when she has the power to ground me. So I throw my stuff into my bag and pull my sundress back over my head, giving Santana the briefest of hugs in the presence of her brother and his friends before I head back out through the gate.

I can already smell the cooking chicken when I walk into the house. Despite having been getting along better with my mom since it’s just been the two of us, I’d still rather be out with my friends or up in my room rather than sitting through an awkward dinner.

The dining room table has pretty much become a dust collector; my mom hardly ate in the weeks after my dad left and I chose to eat my frozen meals at the kitchen counter on the nights I didn’t escape to eat at Santana’s. I’m surprised when I see that it’s been freshly polished and the flowery summer placemats have been set down at each seat. Our two places are also adorned with glasses, empty china plates, and neatly lined silverware.

I wander through to the kitchen to see my mom jumping between two pots and something in the oven. I know she always cooked for my dad, but it’s nice to see her back in a place that she is comfortable. I say hello and she responds without taking her eye off of the simmering pot.

She gestures at a pile of salad ingredients on the island and I take it as my cue to get to work helping her prepare dinner. I fall into the rhythm of chopping up vegetables and tearing lettuce until I have a heaping bowl to toss. My mom starts carrying food to the table and I pour myself a glass of water and carry it with the salad into the dining room.

My mom’s wine glass is absent, replaced instead by her own glass of water. The table looks uneven without my mom’s glass of red and my dad’s tumbler of scotch. I slide into my seat and sit still as she says a short grace, before I pull my cloth napkin from its holder and drop it down onto my lap.

“Did you have a nice afternoon?” my mom asks as I fill my salad plate.

“Yeah, it was fine,” I respond, moving onto filling my actual dinner plate. Everything smells amazing and I realize that I’ve missed my mom’s cooking even if I haven’t missed the dinner atmosphere.

“What did you do all day?” I try to not roll my eyes. She’s just being friendly, but it’s not like she’s really trying to pry into my secret life.

“Hung out by the pool at Santana’s house,” I mutter, cutting my chicken before diving into my food. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until my mom decided she wanted to talk so much. If my mouth is constantly full, there’s less room for awkward conversation.

But my mom doesn’t stop.

“Is that all you girls have done for the first few weeks of summer?” she inquires. Her own food is practically untouched, but she twirls her fork in her fingers.

“Mostly.”

My mom lets out the tiniest of sighs. I feel bad that I’m been so difficult, but it’s not like I’m used to her actually caring how I spend my days.

“We see the glee kids or some of the Cheerios sometimes,” I add when I swallow my bite of green beans.

“You still are in the glee club? I figured you’d stop that after you broke up with that Finn boy.”

“It’s good diversity for my college applications,” I answer immediately, my tone defensive.

“You can just say that you enjoy doing it, Quinnie. If you’re spending time with these choir kids during the summer, I’m sure it’s not just for your college applications.”

Her words take me aback. Being a Fabray has always meant being most popular, the most beautiful, and the smartest. I was raised to think that we were somehow higher members of society because we belonged to the right country club and the best church. Frannie and I went to expensive summer camps and took classical piano lessons. Glee club has been the one thing in my life, besides my secret relationship with Santana, that didn’t fit into what was expected of a Fabray. I joined Cheerios because it was the hardest team to get onto and it was good for popularity. It was elite and the Fabrays were meant to be part of elite teams.

“They’re nice,” I admit. “And glee can be fun. It’s a lot different than all of my other activities.”

My mom smiles warmly at me. It’s so unlike her tight-lipped polite smile that I’m often graced with.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Quinn. It’s all I ever wanted for you and Frannie.”

I’m immediately fighting the urge to laugh. If she wanted me to be happy, why was she so fixated on me being a perfect, blonde beanpole? I wasn’t popular as Lucy, but I was still content. Popularity only ever mattered to me because it was so important to my parents and my sister.

“It’s a competitive club, right?”

“Yeah, there are competitions leading up to Nationals.”

“So it’s kind of like Cheerios, but for singing and dancing.”

“I guess you could say that. You need twelve people to compete, but our team mostly revolves around a couple of the kids that are really serious about it and the rest of us are just there for swaying in the background and adding some harmony. We have a couple of really good singers, but there are still a lot of teams that are better than us.”

My mom nods as I explain how glee club works. I don’t obsessively care about it the way that Rachel does, but talking about it to my mom makes me realize how much I do enjoy it. Plus, it’s extra time spent near Santana.

“I’ll have to come see you compete sometime,” my mom muses as she picks at her salad. My plate is pretty much empty already.

“I just stand in the back, there’s not much to see,” I mumble.

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be supportive. You can’t be captain for every activity you do.”

This also wasn’t the Fabray way. Things were only worth doing if you could be the best.

Conversation slows for a bit after that and I sip my water slowly as I wait for her to finish eating. I tap my fingers against the rim of the glass and will the minutes to go by faster so that I can disappear up to my room.

Just as I think she’s finally finished, she opens her mouth to speak again.

“I think we should get away for the weekend,” she announces, her voice full of strained enthusiasm.

“Why?” It’s an immediate response before I have a chance to filter my thoughts.

“I think it would be good for us. We’re starting over and I never get to see you anymore since you’re always busy with your friends.”

“Where are we going?” As per usual, it’s not like I’m really going to get an opinion on whether I want to go or not. I definitely don’t want to go, but I’ll be packing up and heading out anyway.

“I was thinking we’d go down to Buck Creek like we used to when you and Frannie were kids. I’m going to call Frannie tonight and see if she can get home for a girls’ weekend.”

I give a little nod, acknowledging that she’s making me go on this stupid outing. Having Frannie there will just make it ten times less bearable. I use the break in conversation as an excuse to clear the table, therefore allowing me to make my escape. As soon as I have the dishes into the dishwasher, I head up to my bedroom and close the door.

Santana and I text back and forth for a while about how unfair it is that my mom is forcing me to go on this last minute trip with her and I am tempted to ask my mom if I can go back out now that I’ve been home for dinner so that I can see Santana in person.

As soon as I make the decision to ask her if I can go, she’s knocking on my bedroom door.

I swing open the door and stand with my hand on the doorknob. She stares awkwardly until I move out of the way and let her cross the threshold.

“Frannie is refusing to make the trip home. She says she has other plans that are more important.”

I feel bad for how disappointed my mom seems. She obviously wanted this to be a chance to reconnect with both Frannie and I.

“Well, it’s her loss,” I say casually with a shrug of my shoulders. My mom seems happy that I’m at least embracing the trip and not throwing a fit over it. It’s two nights and then I can go back to my regular summer plans of getting a tan and making out in the safety of Santana’s bedroom. 

“I think we’ll have fun anyway,” my mom states and I can tell that she’s working hard to convince herself that this weekend won’t be a complete disaster.

“Some of our friends are going down to the lake for a bonfire tonight,” I mention casually, glancing down at the screen of my cell phone where Santana’s newest message has just popped up telling me about the party.

“And you want to go I presume?” she inquires. I glance away from her.

“Well, yeah,” I say, studying the little stain on my carpet instead of meeting her eyes.

“Go have fun. We’ll talk about the trip over breakfast tomorrow.”

Getting out of the house was a lot easier than I thought it would be, but she’s already stated that I’ll be home for breakfast, which means no sleeping at Santana’s. That means I won’t get to sleepover again until after we get back because tomorrow night I’ll need to be here so we can leave the following morning.

I rush through showering and getting ready, wanting to get there as soon as possible. It’s under an hour by the time I’m yanking the first dress over my head and grabbing a cardigan off of a hanger before I’m out the door.

Santana and I show up separately to the bonfire like we have for every social engagement for weeks. She’s already there when I pull into the parking as shown by her car sitting a few spaces down from where mine is now parked. I meander down the path with my cardigan and purse in my hands, eyes taking in the roar of orange flames coming from the fire pit about twenty yards from the edge of the lake.

The light given off from the bonfire is enough to let me see what’s going on around it. A few guys are off on one side setting up a makeshift DJ station while another group stands around the keg and keep punching one another in the arm. Puck is flirting his way through the crowd, taking in the cleavage of every girl in his path to the beer. And then I see Santana.

She’s wearing a pale green tube top and a tiny pair of light jean shorts. A strip of bare abdomen peeks out from beneath her shirt. Her golden skin reflects the orange glow of the bonfire in a way that only seems to work for her. Santana’s hair falls over her bare shoulders in shiny waves and she runs a hand through it as she talks to a girl that was in our chemistry class this year.

Usually I would avoid walking directly over to Santana, but it’s like being pulled by a magnetic force field. She’s my best friend and there shouldn’t be a real reason to avoid her just because other people are around. As long as we don’t physically touch, nothing bad can come out of us hanging out in public.

Santana sees me approaching before I actually reach where she’s standing. I can’t help but grin when I see her eyes rake down my outfit before meeting my eyes. She’s holding a red cup like pretty much everybody else at the party, yet somehow she makes even that simple action look sexy.

I greet the girl Santana is talking to, who seems intimidated being in the presence of both of simultaneously. As much as I’d rather have Santana’s attention completely to myself, this girl, Sam I think, is the perfect buffer. She’s friendly and doesn’t seem too caught up in the gossip that practically engulfs Santana and I. She takes a sip of her drink and glances past Santana for a second, looking like she wonders if she should find a way out of this situation.

“So how has your summer been?” I ask Sam, focusing on her to keep myself from dragging Santana back to her car for a quickie.

I don’t really register her response, but I nod politely and look at her while she speaks. Santana says something and takes over for me, talking about Cheerio boot camp while Sam brings up their soccer preseason. I never really thought about the other sports having it as bad as us. Football always seemed like such a huge joke.

I excuse myself to get a drink and leave them talking as I wander across the grass towards the rowdy boys near the keg. They part as I walk over and I roll my eyes at the ridiculous comments that follow me. Finn is at the keg and he gives me a weak nod in greeting before filling a cup and handing it to me wordlessly. With a half smile, I’m taking off again to where Santana is still talking to Sam.

I spend the next two hours joining in on Santana’s casual social interactions, hovering near her with ever focusing my attention directly on her. Every time I feel her eyes on me, I struggle to maintain my nonchalance and I silently pray that the bonfire hides my blush. Nevertheless, being mere feet away and part of her conversations is a million times better than miserably admiring her from afar until it is time to leave. 

I’m surprised when Santana taps my arm and gestures for me to follow her away from the crowd. We walk side-by-side away from the orange glow of the bonfire along the edge of the placid lake. The pounding of the music fades as we walk further from our friends into the darkness. The night air is cool and I pull my cardigan around my bare shoulders, hugging it against me.

“San…” I say softly, slowing to a halt. She stops too, turning to face me with her head cocked. “Where are we going?”

Santana shrugs her shoulders, glancing around in the dim moonlight before taking two big steps towards me. Her nose is only inches from mine; I can feel the heat of her breath against my lips. Paranoia takes over as Santana moves to close the distance of our lips and I turn my face and stumble backwards, putting a solid foot of space between us.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “We’ve had too many close calls lately,” I add as an excuse for my behavior. Santana sighs and nods in resignation, swinging her fists awkwardly at her sides.

“I just want to see you before you leave with your mom,” Santana whines and I can’t help but smile at her sheepish admission.

“Maybe I can get a couple of hours before dinner tomorrow while my mom is at work,” I reason. Santana brightens up a bit at that. “You could always come over and help me pack.”

Santana still avoids my house since my dad left, but I might be able to convince her to give up an afternoon of lounging by the pool if my mom isn’t going to be around. If she’s at her house she’ll have to deal with the constant presence of her little brother and his friends.

“Yeah, maybe,” Santana muses, slowly heading back towards the roaring fire. Her hand swings near mine and my chest aches with the urge to grab hold of it. As always, my fear wins out and I fold my arms across my chest instead.

I decide to leave the bonfire shortly after the walk and I give Santana a friendly hug with an extra squeeze as I say goodbye. I do the same to Brittany as protection, but her hug isn’t nearly as comforting as Santana’s.

My mom wakes me up at seven the next morning for breakfast. Before ninth and tenth grade, I would have been up by now anyway. My mornings of getting in a long run to stay in shape have faded into sleeping in with Santana and getting our exercise in a very different form. I groan and grumble, but my mom opens the shades and putters around my bedroom loudly until I finally throw the blanket back and climb out of bed.

Breakfast is fruit salad and my mom’s homemade blueberry muffins with a tall glass of orange juice. It’s healthier than the comfort food that make up my mornings at Santana’s house, but I fill a bowl with melon and strawberries and take a bite out of a warm muffin as I settle into my seat at the formal table. It’s been months since I sat in the dining room for breakfast.

My mom rambles about the details of our trip as I eat. She flips through printed pages with our cabin confirmation and extracts a packing list, which she drops down next to my juice. I’m given the task of making sure I’m ready to go at seven the following morning with everything on the list packed. Before I can read through it, my mom is dropping a kiss to my forehead and rushing out the door to go to work.

It’s too early to call Santana since she’ll still be sleeping. The list my mom made is extensive and includes everything I personally need, plus the list of snacks and drinks for the cooler and a separate list of supplies for two afternoons on the lakeshore. I sigh and head to the shed out back to find beach chairs and the large umbrella.

Santana finally texts me around noon to say that she’s awake and I tell her to come over. She knocks on the front door ten minutes later. It feels formal and cold considering I just walk into her house when I arrive. I yank the heavy door open to reveal her standing on the front porch wearing bright red Cheerio shorts and a plain white tank top over a red sports bra. Her skin shines with a thin layer of sweat and her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail. I step to the side so that she can walk into the foyer before kicking the door closed.

She glances around the interior of the hall, not moving until I invite her to follow me into the living room. Mostly everything is packed already and I still have five hours until my mom will be home, so I crash down onto the couch and grab the remote. Santana sits down primly next to me, seemingly uncomfortable in the formal room.

I lean into her, letting my head fall heavily onto her bare shoulder as I flip through the thousands of cable channels. She relaxes a bit under my touch, shifting so that she can wrap her arm around me. The rest of the afternoon is spent on the couch relaxing together. Before I know it, the clock alerts me that my mom is expected home in fifteen minutes. Santana knows it too and she pulls herself away from me and up off of the couch. I walk her into the foyer and let my fingertips dance along the edge of her exposed hip as she leans down to tie up her sneakers. She shudders slightly and her eyes are darker when she stands up to look at me again.

“You don’t play fair,” she whines, her arms moving to pull me in closer.

“Just reminding you of what you can have when I get back,” I say, my voice raspy against the words. I swear I hear a whimper escape her before she leans in and kisses me.

It’s short because my mom could be home any second, but my lips tingle as she pulls away and walks the two steps to the front door. I give her a little wave and she blows me a kiss as she sets off at a jog down the porch steps in the direction of her house.

I try to distract my mom with various playlists as she drives to the resort. It’s only a couple of hours away, but it’s more alone time than we’ve spent together in years. She yammers away about her job and the houses she currently has listed and talks about her days as a cheerleader in an attempt to relate to me.

I breathe a sigh of relief when we pull up to the check-in. I choose to stay in the car while my mom collects the keys. Of course there is no cell phone service, so I can’t even text Santana to tell her that we have arrived.

My mom is back ten minutes later with a handful of papers and brochures and a wider than normal smile. She’s actually humming when she gets back into the car and drops the pamphlets onto my lap as she pulls out of the parking lot towards our assigned cabin.

The interior is generic: the walls are made of wood paneling and are adorned by prints of the lake in various seasons. Random country-themed decorations cover the end tables and mantelpiece. The kitchen is tucked in at the back and has a wall border of roosters lining the top of it. I wander off to the left towards the bedrooms. My mom sprung for the two bedroom and I’m immediately grateful at the sight of my own full bed.

It’s only lunchtime, so my mom suggests that we get unpacked and then head into town to eat. I agree and drag my duffel bag into the second bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me. As soon as I’m alone, I sink onto the hideous floral bedspread and pull out my phone again. Zero service. 

It takes me all of five minutes to shove my handful of shorts and bathing suits into the rickety wooden dresser and hang up a couple of sundresses. I walk across the hallway and deposit my toiletries in the bathroom and then flop onto the couch with my book to wait for my mom to be ready.

She emerges half an hour later in a clean dress with her pearls in place and her hair perfectly coiffed. I feel a little underdressed in my capri pants and light blue tank top, but my mom doesn’t comment as she leads the way back to the car.

We end up at a small café about two miles up the road that my mom used to take Frannie and I to when we were kids. The view from the table on the deck is just a reminder of my childhood. It’s been years since we came here and the memories of following Frannie around while my parents talked under the umbrella. My mom and I both order salads: a grilled chicken Caesar for me and a Waldorf for her. I sip on my unsweetened iced tea and look out over the surface of the lake, watching people float by in sailboats.

My mom jumps into conversation, reminiscing about weeks of the summer spent at the lake. I can hear the tears in her voice as she mentions my dad or Frannie as she recalls specific memories. I steer the conversation away from it as much as possible, but it’s impossible to talk about the past without acknowledging the presence of my dad and sister.

The arrival of our meal causes the conversation to ebb a bit as we chew quietly and politely, both lost in our own thoughts. I try to focus on the warm sun on my face and on the two little girls swimming with bright orange water wings in front of their family cabin. They splash happily, the weight of the world still a long way from being their personal burden. Last time we had come to the lake, I felt the same way as those little girls with pigtails.

Mom pays the bill and we get back in the car. It’s still early afternoon, but she doesn’t bring up going to the lake, so I settle onto a lounge chair on the back deck with my book. She joins me with her copy of the latest issue of Home and Garden.

“What classes are you taking this year?” she asks, licking her finger and turning the glossy page of the magazine.

“Physics, Spanish, AP Literature, Calculus, AP US History, AP Psychology, Gym, and Glee,” I recite, counting off the classes in my head.

“Ambitious as usual. You work so hard, Quinn,” she compliments, glancing over the rims of her sunglasses at me. I gaze beyond her at the oak tree in the distance.

“Well I need to make sure I get into a good school with a lot of scholarship money,” I respond mechanically. Money never used to be an issue; my dad would dish out money without blinking an eye as long as we didn’t disgrace him. Frannie’s schooling was completely paid for. But I had chosen mom in the separation and her job as a real estate agent wasn’t going to be enough to pay the bills and send me to an expensive Ivy League school.

“Your college trust fund is still locked for you. Your father couldn’t take that away in the divorce,” my mom comments. I knew that he wanted to take back everything when I chose mom, so I know that she must have really fought to maintain that account for me. She probably had to sacrifice big alimony checks to ensure that I could still go to the college of my choice.

I don’t know how to respond that, so I give a ridiculous little nod of my head and stare back at the words on the open page of my book.

“And you’re still doing Cheerios?” It’s obvious that reading is going to be out of the question. My mom has decided that we’re going to talk and bond this afternoon no matter what.

“Of course,” I respond simply, running my fingers absentmindedly along the spine of my book and sigh softly.

“Do you really want to? It doesn’t seem like you enjoy cheerleading like Frannie did.”

“It’s okay and it keeps me on top without much effort,” I say with a shrug. “Plus, Frannie didn’t cheer for Coach Sylvester. That woman is in her own league of evil most days.”

My mom actually snorts at that comment and drops her magazine onto the table beside her chair.

“She’s been coaching for as long as I can remember. She’s been evil for that long too.”

We talk about cheerleading and Sylvester’s reign of terror for a while and I find myself relaxing around my mom. This is the most amount of time we’ve done something other than eat together with polite small talk. I find myself laughing as I recall Sylvester’s crazy antics from the past couple of years. My mom tells me about her own cheerleading days, which sounded a lot more enjoyable to my own. They mostly involved actually cheering for the football team and riding the perks of being on the top of the high school food chain.

As the afternoon fades into evening, we move into the kitchen and cook dinner together. I fiddle with the old radio in the corner until an oldies station comes through. My mom hums along with the songs of her youth while she tosses a handful of spaghetti into the pot of boiling water. We eat at the little picnic table on the deck as the sun sets beyond the trees. 

We watch some reruns of Friends on the old TV in the living room until we’re both yawning. It’s still pretty early, but I’m happy to retreat to my room for some alone time. I’m not tired enough to sleep, so I pull a notebook and pen out of the side pouch of my duffel bag and collapse onto the bed on my stomach.

Words scratch onto the paper, some bits of poems, some of them are hopes and dreams; other sentences make up the beginning of a love letter. The minutes and hours fade as I write and scribble out words, pouring my emotions onto the lines. When my eyes are finally sore from exhaustion, I push the notebook over the edge of the bed and crawl under the covers, falling into a dreamless sleep without the worries of what the future holds.

The next morning I wake to the sound of my mom getting breakfast ready in the kitchen. It’s early and my eyes resist starting the day, but I know I can’t leave my mom alone all morning while I sleep in. I shower and dress before I join her and by then, she’s already setting breakfast up on the little kitchen table.

Breakfast is a quiet affair and we gather up our tote bags and head down to the lakefront as soon as the dishes are cleared. I lay my towel out on the ground and yank my sunglasses over my eyes figuring on taking a nap in the warm sun. My mom has a different plan.

“It’s been a while since you broke up with Finn,” she muses, her fingers tapping on the armrest of her beach chair.

“Yeah, he’s still dating Rachel Berry,” I comment, not bothering to open my eyes.

“Have you dated anybody else since him?” she asks and I can feel her looking at me.

She’s giving me an opportunity to open up about dating Santana. Before my dad left, I would have never considered bringing this up to my mom. But things have been really different since it has been just the two of us. Still, I don’t know how she’d react and I’m too scared to find out.

“Uh, nope,” I mumble, rolling onto my stomach and facing away from her.

“You should allow yourself to date, Quinnie. I know that you work so hard with school and your extracurricular activities, but you don’t need to neglect your love life.”

“There just hasn’t been anybody that I’m interested in.”

God, I want this conversation to be over immediately.

“Most people don’t marry their high school sweetheart anyway, but it would be good for you to get out date more.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

My mom seems to catch on that this conversation is insanely uncomfortable and she sighs and pulls her book out of her bag and settles in, leaving me to my nap.

The rest of the weekend is a little awkward after the conversation at the lake. My mom seems scared to ask anything too personal and I don’t push her to talk. I think we both breathe a huge sigh of relief when we pull back into our driveway in Lima.

I’m standing in the kitchen when I hear my dad’s voice ring out from the living room. My mom is checking the messages on the answering machine.

“Hey, Judy, it’s Russ. I just was calling to see if you’d get Quinn to come stay with me for a week in Cleveland. Frannie is flying in next Friday and is staying here and I’d love to get to see both girls together for a few days at least. Give me a call when you get a chance.”

My chest tightens at his nonchalance. We hadn’t spoken a word since he had left. Once in a while, he calls to discuss finances with my mom, but he hasn’t even bothered to call me personally. Even now, when he wants me to visit, he doesn’t just call me.

I pretend like I hadn’t heard the message when my mom walks into the kitchen a few minutes later.

“Your father called while we were away,” she says, pulling a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water. She takes a long sip.

“Oh?” I respond, feigning mild interest.

“Frannie is visiting him next week and he would like you to come visit as well.”

“Do I have to?” I ask immediately. My mom seems happy that I’m not jumping at the opportunity to spend time with him.

“It’s up to you, sweetie.”

I bite my lip for a moment and watch as my mom takes another sip.

“Will you be mad if I go?”

“Of course not. If you want to see your sister and your dad, then you should.” I know that she wants to say no, but it would be unfair of her to do so.

“I’ll think about it,” I state firmly. “I’m going to Santana’s house.” With that, I grab my keys from their hook and head out the front door.


	18. Chapter 18

I’m pulling up in front of Santana’s house before I can even register that I’ve left. My dad’s phone call from the message on the answering machine is playing over and over in my head. I look down at my cell phone; it’s only 3 o’clock, so I skip the front door and push open the gate into the backyard. As expected, Santana is sprawled out on a raft floating lazily around in the pool.

She opens her eyes to the sound of me tossing my car keys onto the glass table on the patio. I walk to the edge of the pool and kick off my sandals before submerging my feet into the cool, chlorinated water.

“I wasn’t expecting you so early,” Santana comments, using her hands to propel her raft towards the side where I’m sitting.

“I haven’t even unpacked. I needed to see you,” I explain, kicking my feet through the water.

“How sweet,” Santana coos, pulling herself off the raft and plopping down beside me. She leans over and brushes her lips against my cheek and intertwines our fingers. Mine are clammy against hers, which are pruny from being in the water so long. “I missed you too, Q.”

“My dad wants me to go to Cleveland for a week,” I blurt out. Santana’s hand tenses in mine.

“When?” she asks.

“Next week I think. He left a message on the answering machine while we were gone. I haven’t spoken to him.”

“Are you going?” she prods softly, rubbing her thumb against the back of my hand.

“I’m not sure. My mom told me it’s up to me, but I don’t want to upset her over it. I know she’d rather I don’t see him.”

“Your mom will understand if you want to see him, Quinn. You have to make the decision based on what you want, not what is best for your mom.”

“I don’t really want to see him. But after all of these months of not hearing from him, I want to know why he’s reaching out now. And Frannie is going to be there too.”

“Then maybe you should go. If for nothing else but to get closure on the fact that you’re better off without his influence on your life. He could surprise you with how he’s changed.”

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks, S.”

“Of course. Now tell me about the epic lake adventure with Judy.”

The next couple of hours are spent telling Santana about the trip with my mom and hearing about what I’ve missed in Lima, which is basically nothing. Santana’s dad is barbequing and they invite me over for dinner, but I politely decline. I need to talk to my mom about the decision to visit my dad next week.

My mom is sitting in the living room watching the news when I come in. I slip into the room and sit down on the other end of the couch. She mutes the news.

“I wasn’t expecting you home so early,” she comments, turning her attention towards me. I watch the soundless television.

“I thought you might want to have dinner together,” I say passively.

“Chinese or pizza?” she asks, reaching for the phone. My mom must be tired and emotional if she is deciding to order takeout. 

“Chinese. I’ll take chicken and broccoli with white rice.” Mom nods and wanders out of the room to call in the order. I turn the volume back on to the television and start flipping through the channels.

A few minutes later she returns carrying a tray with all of the supplies to eat dinner in the living room. She would have never allowed it when my father still lived here. But I don’t say anything; I just smile at her warmly as she sets the tray down on the coffee table.

When the doorbell rings, she springs up to pay the deliveryman. I separate the plates and pour us each a glass of water from the pitcher. She returns carrying a brown paper bag. We empty the contents: chicken and broccoli for me, pork lo mein for my mom, and an order of steamed dumplings and eggrolls to share. I scoop a pile of rice into the middle of my plate and pile the chicken and broccoli on top as my mom spoons some of the lo mein noodles out of the cardboard box onto her own plate. I take a couple of bites.

“I think I’m going to go to Cleveland,” I say, immediately taking a bite of my eggroll and muffling the end of my words.

“I’ll call your father tomorrow and let him know,” my mom responds stiffly, pausing in her own eating.

“Thanks, Mom,” I reply genuinely. She gives me a short nod and I can tell she’s biting her tongue. If it were up to her, I wouldn’t be spending a week of my summer vacation in the same house as my dad and his mistress.

By the time I wake the next morning, there’s already a note on the counter from my mom telling me that she spoke to my dad and I’ll be leaving on Friday to spend the week with him. 

~!~!~!~

The drive to my dad’s new home is about three hours. It takes a little bit of convincing to get my mom to let me do the drive by myself, but we agree that it’s better if I have my car with me just in case. My mom hugs me extra tightly before she leaves for work on Friday. Santana stops by with my iPod that she has added a road trip playlist to. I drag her inside so that I can kiss her before I leave. My lips are red and swollen by the time I climb into the driver’s seat. She waves as I back out of the driveway and I watch her start to jog back to her place in my rearview mirror right before I turn.

The ride itself isn’t terrible. The GPS barks out directions every once in awhile, but other than that, the only company I have is the playlist Santana made. It’s full of songs I can sing along to and the hours tick away until I’m pulling into the driveway of a relatively large brick house on a quiet street in the suburbs. I almost laugh at how similar it feels to our house in Lima, but the knowledge of how different it is inside makes me stop.

My dad walks out onto the front porch as I grab my duffel bag and backpack from the backseat. I send my mom and Santana each a text message to let them know that I have arrived safely. I follow the stone pathway to the front door looking around the yard instead of staring at my dad. His eyes are definitely on me though.

He smiles as I try to walk daintily up the three steps, which is basically impossible with my bulky bag. He reaches out and takes the bag from my shoulder, slinging it easily over his own and pulling me into a one-armed hug. All of it feels really strange; he never really was one for physical contact even when he was in my  
daily life.

The reason becomes obvious when the front door swings open to expose a woman that hardly looks older than my sister. Her hair is dark brown and is shiny and falls in flowing waves down her back. Her face is fixed in an extra-wide, toothy smile. In all honesty, she looks like she walked right off of the pageant circuit.

“Honey, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Quinn. Quinn, this is my fiancé, Cynthia.”

He reaches out to pull Cynthia close him, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist.

“Nice to meet you, Quinn,” chirps Cynthia. God, she is so fake.

I put on my best Fabray smile and reach my hand out to shake hers. She bypasses it and gives me a really awkward, tight hug with a little pat between my shoulder blades. I pull away as quickly as possible. My dad is grinning like a fool as he leads the way into his house.

“Frannie got in about an hour ago,” he says as we walk up the stairs. Cynthia ran off to the kitchen to prepare an afternoon snack for us. “She’s resting for the time being.”

I nod even though he’s not facing me. We halt in the carpeted hallway and he pushes open a door on the left. Inside is a twin-sized bed with a pink floral bedspread and a white wrought iron headboard. There is an antique-looking dresser, also white, with a big vanity mirror. A chair and table in the corner are covered in various teddy bears wearing outfits. It’s a room fit for a five year-old of completely clueless parents. Mostly, it reminds me of my own childhood bedroom from our old house and I hate it.

“I hope this is okay. Cynthia put it together for when you come to visit so that you’ll have your own space. Frannie is sleeping in the guest bedroom next door.”

So Frannie gets a real grown-up room and I get a hideous room for a toddler. But I give him a tight-lipped smile nonetheless. Such is the Fabray way.

“Why don’t you settle in and unpack and then you can meet us downstairs when you’re ready?”

It’s really more of a statement than a question. He drops my duffel bag onto the floor by the foot of the bed.

“Yes, sir,” I respond automatically and turn my back to him as I pull my backpack off. I hear the door click behind him.

I have no intentions of unpacking my bag. I’ll be here for a week and there’s really no need. But instead of heading directly downstairs, I flop back onto the stiff mattress and pull out my cell phone.

Santana answers my text immediately and I spend the next twenty minutes messaging her. It’s only when I hear movement in the room beside mine that I register that I should probably join the festivities downstairs. I promise Santana that I’ll call her later and I shove the phone back into the pocket of my shorts before heading back down into the fray.

My dad is sitting at a glass table on patio with a tumbler of scotch on the rocks in front of him. Cynthia is puttering around the kitchen humming softly to herself.

“Can I do anything to help?” I offer politely, waiting by the doorway.

“Oh, I’m okay in here, sweetheart. You go spend some time with your dad and I’ll get things ready.”

I cringe at her calling me sweetheart. She can’t be more than about fifteen years older than me. I don’t argue though; I walk through the kitchen and out the sliding glass door towards my father.

He barely looks up from his newspaper when I sit down. That suits me just fine; I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to a guy that hasn’t so much as called me since he left months ago.

I take the opportunity to eye him up under the cover of my sunglasses. He took the day off, which was practically unheard of when he worked at the firm in Lima. He’s wearing a pink polo shirt and a pair of plaid shorts with topsiders and no socks. There’s a calmness to him that I don’t remember ever being there during the years we spent under the same roof.

Frannie walks out, stretching her arms as she strides across the patio. She is deeply tanned from the California sun and she has dyed her hair to almost platinum blonde. As always, she looks perfectly put together in her sundress and wedges. Her nails look like she got a mani/pedi right before she flew out that morning. There’s a silver heart necklace resting against her chest that I don’t remember seeing last time I saw her a few months ago. Things must be getting more serious with her boyfriend.

My dad positively beams at her as she slips into the chair beside me. She pulls the sunglasses down from her head to cover her eyes as she smiles back.

“Do you feel better now, honey?” my dad asks, his voice dripping in genuine concern.

“I do; the flight was just ghastly and I needed some quiet time after listening to an infant scream for two hours.” My dad releases a deep laugh like it’s the funniest thing he has ever heard. I tap my fingers on the edge of the table and wish I could just hide out upstairs until dinner.

Cynthia walks out carrying a tray filled to the brim with tiny sandwiches and a vegetable platter. She drops it quickly and disappears inside to get the giant pitcher of lemonade and glasses for us girls. Her and Frannie immediately start talking like they are best friends about Frannie’s manicure and Cynthia’s hairstyle. I could care less, so I turn to the food instead. Dad drops his paper onto the table and focuses his attention on the conversation.

By dinner, I’m ready for the week to be over. We’re sitting in the formal dining room while Cynthia carries out the food, refusing all help. I think she’s trying to prove that she can handle taking care of all of her guests. In reality, she’s just wasting time on a task that would have been a million times easier if she had let me carry a few of the bowls to the table.

Dad pours himself and Frannie each a glass of red wine. Cynthia declines and opts for a glass of ice water instead. I’m left with a glass of milk and I feel like a child again. Frannie smirks at me, obviously pleased that Dad is letting her drink even though she won’t be 21 for a couple more months.

Over dinner, my dad acts like Frannie and I are both his perfect beacons of light. Frannie is comfortable in this role; she’s always been able to gain my father’s admiration at the drop of a hat. I, on the other hand, have no idea what to do. He asks about school and Cheerios and keeps turning to Cynthia to brag about my perfect grades and my captaincy. I don’t bother telling him that I lost my captain spot.

Frannie soaks up the attention and jokes with my dad about things. I speak only when spoken to, even though for once my dad is actually focusing some attention on me when Frannie is around. Cynthia just seems enamored by what a wonderful father he is pretending to be. I don’t take a second helping even though I’m still hungry. Dad usually makes comments about my weight when I do and I don’t feel like ruining his happy attitude towards me, no matter how fake it probably is.

After the table is cleared (completely by Cynthia as I’m still not allowed to raise a finger to help), my dad ushers us into the sitting room. Cynthia pours my father a scotch and refills Frannie’s wine glass, even though she’s already had two glasses tonight.

“Quinnie is ranked first in her class,” my father brags to Cynthia as he swirls the scotch in his glass. I have no idea where this is coming from; my father hasn’t spoken to me in months and for all he knows I could have let my grades slip. At this point, I’m actually second behind Mike Chang. I don’t correct him.

“That’s very impressive, Quinn,” Cynthia responds, giving me a warm smile. “You must have gotten your father’s brilliant mind.”

I manage to not laugh at her obvious admiration of my father. I get good grades because I work my ass off, not because I’m naturally brilliant. If I just went on sheer talent, I would end up graduating 20th like Frannie had.

“Thanks.” 

“She’ll be at an Ivy League next year, you mark my words,” adds my father, looking at me with more fondness than I can ever remember seeing from him.

“Do you have any preference on colleges yet?” Cynthia asks. Frannie is scowling slightly at the fact that I’m getting all of the attention that is usually focused on her. That makes me smile.

“I’m not sure. It depends on where I get scholarship money and I haven’t really thought about what I want to major in yet.”

“Quinnie will have colleges knocking down her door. I’m sure she’ll be the next big lawyer or surgeon.”

I have zero interest in being either one, but again I don’t correct him. My dad is obviously trying to paint us as a perfect, immensely talented family.

“I got into Stanford pre-med,” Frannie brags, obviously looking to regain some of my father’s attention.

“And you dropped out of the pre-med program in a month,” I shoot back at her. She looks immediately furious.

“Frannie just has different interests outside of medicine,” my dad recovers, giving me a warning look. I refrain from muttering under my breath about how she’s just in college to find a rich guy to marry.

The next couple of hours are spent having my father brag about his perfect children, mostly me for once, and having Cynthia coo over how amazing we are. I have to refrain from rolling my eyes as he continually exaggerates about how great he has been as a father and how talented we are. By the time I say goodnight, he has listed me as valedictorian with perfect attendance that is an All-American cheerleader. 

I’m annoyed about how fake the whole exchange had been and I’m glad to be in my bedroom upstairs away from it all. Once I’m in my pajamas, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in!” I call, grabbing my toothbrush from my bag.

Frannie comes in and closes the door behind her. She doesn’t look happy and I gulp. Frannie’s rage is nearly as bad as my father’s can be.

“I bet you loved every second of that,” she snarls, looking disgusted with me.

“How can anybody enjoy someone acting completely fake on their behalf?” I spit back. Frannie has loved it her entire life.

“He’s trying, Quinn. Give him a chance. It’s Mom’s fault that he left just as much as it is his.”

My jaw drops open at the comment. My sister actually blames my mom for my father’s infidelity. My mom made sure that every meal was on the table for him as soon as he walked in from work. She did all of the housework, made sure our homework was done, took us to ballet and piano lessons, made sure Dad’s suits were dry cleaned. My dad is the one that lied about working late so that he could go meet up with his mistress while my mom was taking care of everything for him.

“He hasn’t called me in months! He doesn’t care about anybody but himself and his own happiness! It doesn’t matter that Mom has to work to make ends meet for us, even though she did nothing but love him!”

“You could have lived with Dad if living with Mom is such a struggle.” I’ve never wanted to slap my sister as much as I do in this moment.

“Whatever, Frannie. Go back to living in your fantasy world in California where none of it affects you as long as they drop money into your bank account once a month!”

Frannie seems to catch on that I’m infuriated and she puts her hand on the doorknob.

“You are a selfish little brat, Quinn! Dad is actually trying to be nice to you and you’re hardly acting like you even want to be here!”

“That’s because I don’t want to be here!”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know how true they are. I came for closure so I wouldn’t keep wondering what life would be like if I had chosen Dad instead.

Frannie huffs and marches out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

I drop onto my bed, furious at my older sister. It was going to be a very long week if this is how the first night turned out.

As I’m lying there staring at the ceiling, I hear my father’s voice in the hallway.

“Quinn has always been a bit of a difficult child,” I hear him explain to Cynthia. They must have heard me fighting with Frannie. “She’s always been a little too stubborn for her own good. I’m sure she’s just upset about the divorce still; I know she took it much harder than Frannie.”

It takes all of my effort to keep myself plastered to the bed. Throwing a huge fit will just give him more ammunition to prove to Cynthia that I’m an immature, difficult little girl.

The night is a restless one. The mattress of the twin bed is hard and the sheets are scratchy against my bare legs. I try everything possible to get comfortable to get some rest, but my efforts are completely futile.

Despite my inability to sleep, I stay in bed until I can hear everybody talking downstairs in the kitchen. Only then do I dare venture out of the bedroom. It isn’t until the hot water is cascading down my shoulders in the shower that I realize I forgot to call Santana last night. I feel awful and make a mental note to make up for my constant absence when I get back to Lima next week.

I finally turn the water off when it starts to run cold. I take my time toweling off and getting dressed, stalling from having to be around my dad and Frannie for as long as possible.

Dad and Frannie have disappeared into his home office by the time I finally amble downstairs. Cynthia is wearing canary yellow, elbow-length rubber gloves while she scrubs down the granite countertops. My dad has managed to find a young, brunette version of my mother as his replacement and it all feels a little comical.

“Good morning!” she chirps, turning her attention away from the already sparkling countertops and focusing it on me instead.

“Morning,” I muster, shifting my weight from foot to foot awkwardly.

“Can I get you some breakfast? Do you drink coffee?” Cynthia strips off her gloves and washes her hands like her only duty is to cater to my needs whenever I walk into a room.

“Coffee sounds great,” I respond, forcing a half-smile onto my face.

She reaches up into a cabinet and extracts a large, green mug. The coffeepot is still half full, so she fills the mug before carrying it carefully towards the fridge and putting it down on the countertop.

“How do you take it?” she asks, pulling the large door open and rummaging around inside.

“Just a splash of milk and a little sugar. I can make it though,” I offer.

“Nonsense. I have it under control.” She hands me the mug and I thank her. “Sit down and relax. Now how do you like your eggs cooked?” she asks, already setting a frying pan on the stovetop.

“Scrambled is fine. Thanks, Cynthia.”

I sip my coffee quietly at the kitchen table while she bangs the pan around on the stove. I can hear my sister laughing at something my father has said. They don’t even seem concerned about seeing me.

Cynthia carries over a plate with a heap of scrambled eggs and buttered wheat toast. She slides it onto the placemat in front of me with a fork and knife wrapped up neatly in a napkin like I’m at a restaurant.

“Can I get you anything else, dear?” she queries, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

She sits down in the chair next to me, obviously feeling a compulsion to entertain me while my dad focused on Frannie instead.

“Your father has to take a client golfing this afternoon. He’s trying to land a big deal. I was thinking us girls could go shopping and I know a great little cafe that we can go to for lunch.”

I swallow my mouthful of eggs; they’re not nearly as good as my mom’s eggs are. It makes me miss being home, just the two of us in the kitchen on a Saturday morning.

“Sounds good,” I respond with very little emotion. I’d be happier staying here by myself than spending a forced afternoon with Frannie and my dad’s new object of affection.

The afternoon is hardly bearable. Frannie and Cynthia are practically instant best friends. I spend the whole time trailing along behind them as they discuss shoes and upcoming fall fashions and the pros and cons of spray tans. All of it is completely superficial and nauseating. When I had been Lucy, I had never felt the need to put myself into these situations. Nobody thought twice about leaving me home from a shopping trip back then.

We get back to the house before Dad and Cynthia immediately starts preparing a big fancy meal. Frannie sits at the table and talks to her, so I take the opportunity to sneak upstairs for some time away from them.

Santana doesn’t answer my call, but she immediately texts me back that she’s at the movies with Mercedes and that she’ll call me tonight. It sucks to go days without really talking to her, but I’m glad she’s at least using the time to catch up with people while I’m away.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know my dad is banging on the door demanding that I join them for dinner. I rub my eyes and drag myself off of the bed immediately. It’s easier to try and keep my dad happy than suffer through his anger over something simple.

Frannie is freshly showered and is wearing the sundress she had bought this afternoon on our shopping trip. It pops brightly against her California tan and bleach blonde hair. My cheeks grow warm knowing I look disheveled from my impromptu afternoon nap. Cynthia also looks like she freshened up and she’s actually glowing as she kisses my father’s cheek before sitting down in the seat beside him.

We say grace and I fill my plate with food. The more I chew, the less I have to say to anybody. Frannie gulps her wine, white this time, in between bites while she listens to some story my dad is recounting. I observe Cynthia instead as she takes the daintiest bites I’ve ever seen. She wipes her mouth with her cloth napkin in between every single forkful as she gazes at my dad.

When our plates are empty, my dad lifts his wine glass and stands. I’ve seen him do it a million times; he is going to give a speech.

“We have some good news,” he starts, resting his free hand on Cynthia’s shoulder. He gazes down on her rather fondly. “Cynthia is pregnant. You’re going to have a new sibling soon!”

That explains Cynthia’s glowing complexion. I’m pretty sure my jaw nearly hits the surface of the dining room table. Frannie jumps up from her seat and hugs both of them and squeals her congratulations.

“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.” The words leave my mouth before I fully comprehend what I’m saying. My father visibly stiffens and looks at me with a warning glare. I can’t stop though. “You have a 20 year-old for God’s sake! We’re both old enough to have our own kids! Don’t you think this is all kinds of ridiculous?!”

Cynthia looks worried and I feel bad for that. It’s not her fault that my family is an absolute disaster. Dad’s face, however, is nearly purple with rage. Frannie drops back into her seat, her eyes darting between me and Dad.

“You’re way too old to be acting like a petulant spoiled brat, Lucy Quinn.” My dad’s tone is eerily calm even though I can see how badly he’s physically straining to not kill me. “Whether you like it or not, you’re not going to be the baby of this family anymore.”

Without another word, I push my chair back and leave the table. I run up the stairs and grab my things quickly, shoving them into my bag and zipping it closed in record time. None of them try to stop me as I march out the front door, start my car, and drive away.

The tears slip silently down my cheeks as I drive. The three hours it takes me to get back to Lima feel like the longest of my life. It’s past eleven when I pull into my neighborhood, but I bypass my house completely.

I can see that the light is still on in Santana’s bedroom. I pull the key out of the ignition and punch in Santana’s number. She answers on the second ring as I’m walking up the front steps.

“I’m at your front door. Can you let me in?”

“What’s going on?” she asks, obviously confused.

“Please just let me in, Santana,” I plead as the tears start to pick up their pace. They feel scalding against my cheeks.

The front door swings open to reveal Santana wearing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. I collapse into her arms immediately, my tears wet against her shoulder.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” she says, going into crisis mode.

I feel bad for just showing up here so late, but Santana doesn’t seem to mind. She guides me through the dark main level and holds my arm steadily as we climb the stairs. As soon as she locks us into her bedroom, I burst into full-fledged sobs.

“Quinn, sweetie, tell me what happened.” Her voice is soft and sweet as she tries to soothe me. My body shakes as I cry. She guides me over to the bed and I curl up into a tiny ball. Santana climbs onto the bed and holds me tightly in her arms, rocking us slightly as she hums softly against my ear.

It takes a long time for me to get my breathing under control enough to form sentences. Santana is still hugging me tightly to her chest as she tries to keep me together as I’m falling apart. By the time I get out what happened at my dad’s, my body is exhausted. All of the crying has completely drained me.

Santana gets me a big glass of water and makes me drink it before helping me out of my clothes into pajamas. I fall asleep tucked tightly into her side.

I can hear her soft snores as I come to in the morning. My throat is sore and scratchy and my eyes are burning from all the crying. Santana is pressed against me, her arm stretched over me protectively. I lay there listening to her breathing, not wanting to disturb her slumber.

I haven’t so much as looked at my cell phone since I called Santana the night before. My dad probably hasn’t even bothered calling to see if I made it home alive and my mom doesn’t even realize that I’m missing at this point. The only person that really matters knows where I am and took care of me when I couldn’t hold myself together.

Santana nuzzles into me until her cheek rests on my chest and she sighs as she falls back into her deep sleep. I smile down at her and at the wave of peacefulness that washes through me. It’s the first time I’ve felt happy since pulling into my dad’s driveway.

It’s almost noon by the time Santana rouses and I kiss her forehead gently as she yawns. I’m rewarded with a sleepy smile and her nuzzling further into my side. I hold her there, wrapping my arms around her and basking in her warm skin against mine in the air-conditioned room. The sun streaming in from the windows is bright and cheerful. 

“You should probably let your mom know that you’re back in town,” Santana says responsibly. Judging by how quiet her house is, her family seems to be out. I have to count back to figure out what day of the week it is. Sunday.

“Weren’t you supposed to be at church with your Abuela this morning?” I ask suddenly, jolting Santana against me a bit. She hardly ever misses a Sunday with her grandmother.

“It’s fine. I texted my mom last night when you showed up asking her to tell Abuela that I wasn’t going.”

It takes me another hour to get out of the bed and pull myself together to go home and face my mom. Part of me knows that she'll be pleased that I'd rather be in Lima living with her than anywhere with my dad. The other part knows that she'll play the role of concerned mom because that is the person she has really been trying to be since my dad left. And today, I just really don't feel like being coddled. The bottom line is that I'm never going to gain my father's approval the way Frannie or my new half-sibling will. Lucy was the daughter he never wanted and Quinn still shows pieces of Lucy. I'm a broken shell of what he wants and a messy hybrid deep within and I can't fix it. I don't want to fix it.

I try to convince Santana to come with me to my house while I grab my stuff for an afternoon spent by Santana's pool, but she insists that I need to do it alone and she will be waiting by the pool with lunch when I get back. I let her hug me for longer than usual as we stand in the foyer and she seems to understand how grateful I am for her taking care of me last night. Like usual, I don't even need to share it verbally for Santana to understand how I feel.

My mom's car is in the driveway when I pull in and I take a deep breath before I turn off the ignition. I don't even bother to grab my suitcase from the back seat before heading into the house, my sunglasses pulled over my bloodshot eyes.

What I didn't expect is to hear my mother screaming into the phone as soon as I opened the door. I drop my keys onto their hook and walk slowly towards the office where her voice is reverberating from.

"How the hell can you just let your sixteen year old daughter leave in that state, Russell?! And you waited until over twelve hours to call me to let me know that she left? Are you insane? Do you not care at all?"

I stiffen at my mother's words. I don't want my father to answer the questions because I don't want to have to hear the answers and if he yells as loudly as my mom is, I'll be able to hear it from clear across the room. I stride towards her and place a tentative hand on her shoulder. She nearly jumps out of her skin and spins around, her worried face immediately dissolving into relief.

"You're a worthless excuse for a father and if you think that she's coming to visit again, you're out of your freaking mind. Take me to court if you want, but Quinn is not seeing you again under my supervision."

With that, my mom hits the button on the phone and the call goes dead.

"Oh, thank God," my mom whispers into my hair as she pulls me into a tight hug. I let her hold me like that until I can hardly breathe. She doesn't want to relinquish her grip and she holds onto me while giving me a few inches of space. 

The tears start falling before I can stop them. I haven't seen concern like this painted on my mom's face since I fell off the swings and broke my arm when I was seven. I let myself be enveloped in her arms once again.

"I'm so-sorry," I choke out, my body shaking from the force of my sobs. I'm amazed that I still have tears left after last night.

"Sweetie," my mom coos, rocking me in her arms. "You didn't do anything wrong. I shouldn't have let you go there with your hopes up that things would be different with him."

"You shouldn't have to deal with him because of me," I cry, wiping my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

My mom makes hushing noises and doesn't loosen her grip on me until the sobs start to subside. When I finally am able to calm down enough to breathe properly, my mom leads me through to the living room and eases me onto the couch before sitting beside me.

"Your best interest is my biggest concern. If that means fighting with Russell every day, then it is what I'm going to do," my mom says with a tone of finality. "What happened in Cleveland, Quinnie?”

It takes an hour to get through all of the gruesome details of the visit to Dad’s. A few times I have to tug on her arm to keep her from getting up to call and scream at him some more.

"He's having another baby?" she repeats and I nod solemnly, staring down at my hands clasped in my lap. "Well, normally this kind of announcement would call for a drink, but given your age, I think an afternoon at the spa is more appropriate," my mom states, standing and smoothing the wrinkles from her dress.

"I'm okay, Mom. Really," I tell her.

"You've always been a tough girl, but that doesn't mean you need to act like none of this is hurting you. We'll have a nice, relaxing day to regroup."

"But I have plans with Santana," I insist. I want to be around Santana.

"So invite her to join us," Mom adds simply. "It is about time that I get to know the friend that you spend all of your free time with anyway."

Mom is already out of the room making the appointment at the day spa before I can respond. Santana answers on the first ring and she's easier to convince than I would have thought.

Half an hour later, we pull up in front of Santana's house and she comes bounding down the front steps before I even have a chance to get out of the car to ring the doorbell. Santana is wearing a casual, sleeveless white blouse and a pair of purple capri pants. I've never seen Santana look like this. She could be a J. Crew model with this outfit and the way she has pulled her hair back into a sleek bun at the nape of her neck. My mouth hangs open as I watch her stride down the path until she's opening the door behind my seat and climbs into the car.

"Hey, Quinn. Pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Fabray. Thank you for inviting me to join you."

I try to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head at this new and improved version of Santana. She catches my eye in the rear-view mirror and winks at me before turning back to talking to my mother.

It dawns on me as my mom is insisting that Santana call her Judy that Santana actually cares about what my mom thinks of her now that we’re really together. The thought is overwhelming; it means Santana wants to make this work beyond being a secret.

The whole way across town, Santana makes conversation with my mom. I’ve never heard my mom laugh with any of my other friends or ex-boyfriends, but Santana has her clutching at her side by the time we pull into the parking lot at the spa.

Mom made us appointments for facials, manicures, and pedicures. I’m immediately grateful that she could not get us in for massages at the last minute. The thought of being nearly naked in the same room as my mother and my girlfriend simultaneously makes me go crimson. Santana notices and gives me a shit-eating grin before turning back to trying to convince my mom to let her pay for her own.

The facials are first and we sit in comfortable silence as the masks harden on our faces. The music is soothing and I find myself buying into the idea of the spa.

After our faces are freshly scrubbed, we get ushered into another room. Pedicures are one of my favorite things and we chat as we sit in the massaging chairs with our feet in the warm baths. My mom is asking a million questions and Santana answers with long-winded responses about Cheerios and Glee and her class schedule. I watch my mom closely, but she seems to like that Santana is chatty and animated in her responses, which is basically the polar opposite of how Finn and Paul were around my parents.

I’m pleased with how easily they seem to get along as we sit with our nails under the heat lamps to dry. Running away from my dad’s house in Cleveland seems like forever ago now that I’m back in the presence of the people that actually care about me.

My stomach growls loudly as we head out into the parking lot and my mom just laughs and ushers us into the car, insisting that we go for a nice lunch to round out the day. Surprisingly, she agrees readily when I suggest we go to Breadstix and she hums along with the radio as she drives. Santana fills me in on the e-mail Coach Sylvester sent her about summer training.

The waitress leads us to a booth and my mom takes one side while I slide in beside Santana. Our thighs brush briefly and I have to fight wholeheartedly to control the erupting of butterflies in my stomach. I inch towards the edge of the vinyl seat, leaving a tiny crack of space between my leg and Santana's on the small bench.

Santana manages to limit herself to only three breadsticks and displays impeccable table manners throughout the whole meal. My mom has a look of pleasant surprise etched on her features; I know after the rumors she heard about Santana around town, she wasn't expecting my best friend to be such a polished young lady. To be honest, neither was I since she never lets anybody see this side of her.

Lunch is pleasant and my mom seems to be in a great mood by the time we drop Santana off at the end of her driveway. Once she parks the car, she leans over and rests her hand on top of mine. I turn and look at her curiously.

"I had a great day with you girls. Santana is a very sweet girl. You're lucky to have such a wonderful friend." With that off of her chest, she gives my hand a light squeeze and exits the car.

I walk slowly into the house, tapping away at the screen of my cell phone as I do so. I can already hear Mom settling in to catch up on her soap operas in the living room, so I head for the stairs.

My mom has deemed you "sweet" and "wonderful."

Santana responds almost immediately.

Who wouldn't? I'm obviously sugar and spice and all that sweet shit.

Well, I never knew that Santana Lopez could be such an adorable sweetheart for more than 2 minutes at a time.

I'm also horny as fuck and as I just spent the last three hours wooing the hell out of your mom, I think I deserve to get under the skirt of Quinn Fabray now.

My cheeks immediately burn with embarrassment. It doesn't matter that I'm in my own bedroom alone. The implication of what she's saying causes my entire body to react out of my control.

Way to ruin a moment, Lopez. I'll be over in fifteen.


	19. Chapter 19

Santana's family is conveniently absent when I show up at her house hardly a half-hour after my mom and I dropped her off. It takes me no time at all to trot up the stairs. 

"Hey, where are your-" I lose my train of thought as I catch sight of Santana sprawled on top of the comforter on her bed. Her eyes are closed and one hand is resting under her head while the other is moving beneath the waistband of her shorts.

My mouth goes dry and her one eye cracks open and tries to focus on me standing across the room for a second before it falls closed again. She doesn't stop and I don't know if I want her to. I take in her shallow breathing, the way her face is flushed and her hair falls onto her forehead, how her hips arch into her touch.

"Quinn..." she says softly, her hand moving more frantically between her legs. I walk across the room, my eyes darting from her face to where her free hand moves to twist her own nipple. Her back is starting to arch and I close the distance, leaning down and pressing my lips to her. Santana exhales against my mouth before kissing me hard and I feel her body tense and start to shake. I swallow her whimpers as my tongue strokes against hers and once she goes limp, I kick off my shoes and climb onto the bed, straddling her hips and grinning down at her. She pulls her hand out of her shorts and wipes her fingers carelessly on the sheets.

"Couldn't wait long enough for me to walk four blocks?" I tease, kneading her arms softly as she starts to come back to me.

"Mmm, you walk really slowly," she mumbles with a content smile.

"Well if you think that means I don't get my turn with you, you're very much mistaken," I say seriously and lean down to capture her lips again, making sure to roll my hips against her already sensitive body.

"I'd expect nothing else from you," she mutters against my lips, her hands reaching up to grip my hips and pull me down until I'm lying on top of her, my knee slipping between her legs. Santana groans at the contact and holds me firmly against her as we kiss.

The rest of the world falls to the back of my mind and I let Santana’s hands slide up my thighs and under my dress until they are planted firmly on my ass. It has been weeks and my body hums at her simplest touch. Her kisses are needy, like she can’t get enough of me. I kiss her back, trying to tell her with the touches of my lips on hers that this is exactly where I want to be. Everything else has been in the way of us just getting to enjoy one another in the simplest ways. 

Every move is precise and calculated, driven by equal parts need and love. Santana seems to be able to read me and know what I need even before I can express it. I let her have the control from below me and she moves her hand to where I need her the most. The weeks of missing her intimate touch negates any need for foreplay and I’m moaning into her neck before she even moves my panties to the side and sinks deep inside me.

I’m so worked up already that it is an embarrassingly short amount of time before I am bucking into her hand with reckless abandon.

I collapse on top of her when my muscles go limp and I rest my ear on her chest. Her heart is beating hard underneath my head, its thudding rhythm pounding in my ear as my body rises and falls with her breathing.

As soon as I regain my bearings, I’m grinding my hips down into her, letting my thigh press against her. She places a hand on the small of my back and pushes up into me, her breath wispy and warm in the crook of my neck. She pulls my dress up until I finally break away to pull it over my head and discard it. Her fingers grip into my bare skin as we rock into one another. I’m getting worked up again way too quickly and I slow down, letting my hands push up Santana’s t-shirt until she lifts from the mattress to get rid of it. Her thin cotton shorts scratch against my leg and my already soaked panties are against her thigh as she moves. It feels like not enough and too much all at once and I nip at her collarbone as her fingers dance along my ribs as they move upwards.

I want the clothing separating us gone, but every roll of my hips sends a shot of pleasure coursing through my veins and it’s hard to convince myself to stop moving long enough to get rid of the garments. Santana takes that problem into her own hands and pushes me back so that I’m sitting on my heels.

She lifts her own hips and pulls away her shorts and panties in one fluid stroke before reaching for the waistband of my panties. I let her slide them down my thighs and I kick them off my feet before reaching behind myself and letting my bra slacken and fall down off of my arms. Santana pulls off her tight sports bra before settling back against the pillows and beckoning me to come back.

I slide my hand between our bodies as we mold together again. She groans when she undulates her hips up into the palm of my hand. I can feel how wet she is and it causes me to start rocking into her again with renewed vigor.

I rub against her clit with every thrust of my hips. She’s getting worked up quickly and I draw lazy figure eights and tease at her entrance, keeping her from falling into a rhythm. She fights against me, moving her hips erratically to try to get my fingers back on her clit for more than a fleeting moment.

Her whines grow in volume until I finally stop teasing her and push two fingers into her. She stretches around my fingers and groans as I start moving them in and out. The back of my hand hits my clit each time I start to pull out and I grind against it mercilessly as I work Santana up simultaneously.

She tenses beneath me and I rub my thumb over her clit in sloppy circles until she’s shaking and moans my name into my shoulder. With a few more thrusts of my hips against the back of my hand and I’m following her over the precipice.

~!~!~!~

“It’s weird to think that only a few hours ago I was getting a pedicure with your mom,” Santana comments as they lay tangled up in the sheets.

“I would really rather not talk about my mother while in this state,” I reply, causing Santana to giggle.

“What do you want to talk about instead?” Santana inquires.

“Do you really want to come out to the glee kids?” I ask. Santana turns onto her side and props her head up on her hand so that she can survey me.

“I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Q.”

“I’m just afraid that I’ll never be ready and that’s never going to be good for us in the long run.”

“Aww, you’re thinking about us in the long run?” Santana teases, smiling happily down at me as I recline on her pillows. I shove her playfully and roll my eyes.

“What if you get sick of waiting for me? It’s been months already and your mom is so supportive but you’re stuck waiting around for me. Most people would love to brag about having you as a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, and none of them have me. I pursued you. I’m with you because I love you. And now you’ve tainted me for everybody else. I can’t go back to a life of dating bumbling jocks.”

I manage a weak chuckle.

“When you’re ready, we can start telling our friends. Until then, as long as we keep having mind-blowing sex I think I’ll keep you around.”

“I think I can manage that,” I say, reaching for Santana’s neck and yanking the girl down on top of me.

~!~!~!~

“What if we just tell some of them in small groups and see how it goes?”

We’re lying out on lounge chairs by Santana’s pool. Ever since we talked about coming out a few weeks ago, Santana hasn’t breathed a word about it. We’ve been around our friends and she continued to maintain a comfortable distance, but would give me secret smiles from across the room. At night, we’d end up in bed together, blankets kicked off and limbs entwined with each other’s.

“Like I said last time: whenever you’re ready is fine with me, Q.”

“I hate having none of them know besides Brittany and Rachel. There’s no way I’m talking to Rachel about us and it’s not like I can really talk to Brittany about our relationship with her still sort of having feelings for you.”

Santana tenses slightly and blows out a noisy breath.

“Who were you thinking we should tell first?” Santana asks me.

“Kurt and Mercedes.”

Santana springs up from her chair and pushes her sunglasses up onto her forehead.

“You want to tell the two biggest gossips first?!” Santana asks me incredulously. I shrug.

“Kurt would kind of understand our situation. And he can’t keep a secret completely to himself but then he could gossip with Mercedes. Plus, besides Britt, Mercedes is our next closest glee club friend.”

I know my reasoning is pretty sound giving our options. Finn will be furious at the idea of his ex-girlfriend exclusively dating a girl, never mind Santana. Puck is immature and impossibly crass. Tina and Artie are hardly over the level of acquaintances. Mike and Matt are on the football team and spend all of their time with a posse of other jocks.

“What if telling the gossip queens backfires?”

“It won’t. I know you well enough to know that you’ll scare them into behaving.”

Santana gives a hearty laugh.

“You’ve got that right. Lady Hummel might actually have a pair of testicles tucked into his panties, but I’d tear them right off of his body.”

Despite Santana’s typical crudeness, it’s sweet how much she’s willing to defend my honor. I was a girl that read fairytales and grew up with hopes of finding my perfect Prince Charming. Apparently I was looking in the wrong place the whole time.

~!~!~!~

“Let me do the talking,” Santana says, squeezing my hand as we sit in her car in front of Kurt’s house.

I just nod nervously. Santana’s fuse is short and it could end up with me needed to restrain her if it doesn’t go the way she has planned it in her head. I also know that pretty much everybody in glee club holds a healthy amount of fear for both of us. As much as Kurt and Mercedes like to gossip, they also know what could happen if they cross the two most popular girls in school. Santana is a big softy and protects them from the football players with threats of castration, but Kurt and Mercedes don’t need to know that. It’s better for us if they maintain at least a small fraction of fear with the bomb we’re about to drop on them.

Kurt answers the door in an outfit that looks kind of like a sailor suit, including a ridiculous little hat tipped jauntily on his perfectly coiffed hair. He welcomes us in despite the obvious apprehension over why we asked him and Mercedes to hang out in the first place. 

We’ve always been social friends: hanging out at parties hosted by mutual friends, joining the same clubs or activities. Kurt was never someone that we called to just hang out on a Thursday afternoon in the middle of the summer for the hell of it. Most of my contact with Kurt was a byproduct of my budding friendship with Mercedes.

He leads us through the house past displays of his father’s collection of football memorabilia and down into a basement room that is obviously the only place in the abode that Kurt’s decorating skills have been welcomed. Mercedes is perched on the sofa with a can of root beer and is immersed in a rerun of Project Runway.

Santana wastes no time shutting off the television despite Mercedes’s indignant grunt. She sits down in a chair that is sort of facing the couch and Kurt sits down next to Mercedes, eying us both curiously. The only other seat is across the room from Santana, so I choose to stand awkwardly next to her chair instead.

“Let’s get down to it.” Santana says coarsely. I want to put my hand on her shoulder to calm her down. I know her nerves are as bad as mine, but she has a tendency to be a complete bitch when she’s feeling vulnerable. It is not like I’m any better in these situations, but I have gotten used to reeling Santana in.

Kurt opens his mouth to say something but Santana cuts him off. “Now I know we’re not best buddies who stay up late sharing secrets and braiding each others’ hair and you two are pretty much the biggest blabbermouths at McKinley, but for some ungodly reason, Quinn seems to think that you’re our best option.”

“What are you...” Kurt starts but Santana throws her hand up to stop him.

“Hold all questions until I’m done, Lady Hummel and Wheezy. Now, be aware that I will personally make your lives intolerable if you open your traps about this. I have minions in every corner of this town that would have no problem destroying a prissy boy and a tater tot queen.”

Kurt and Mercedes officially look terrified at what this meeting could possibly be about. I just plant on my mask as Santana continues.

“Quinn and I are fucking. There are feelings involved and all that shit. We sleep with one another and only one another. And we’ve decided that we’re too fucking hot to not share this news with someone.”

Kurt’s jaw hangs comically wide. Mercedes’s eyes dart back and forth between Santana and I, her expression drenched in incredulity.

“You two,” Mercedes mumbles pointing first at Santana then at me. I shrug and smile at her.

“I can’t believe this. I’ve been tortured for two years and the two most popular girls in school are sleeping with each other? Nothing in this world makes sense,” Kurt says, shaking his head.

“To be fair, we’re also not dressed like Popeye,” Santana adds, reaching over to find my hand and pull me into her lap. Kurt just continues shaking his head.

“Are you coming out at school in September?” Mercedes asks while Kurt tries to continue processing this news.

Santana and I look at one another and have a silent conversation quickly.

“Probably not for a while. We still have to break it to the rest of the glee club and my mom before it becomes public knowledge,” I answer.

“Which means the two of you need to turn down your urge to gossip incessantly. I really don’t want to have to go all Lima Heights on your asses.”

Kurt and Mercedes both nod emphatically.

“I’m starving though. You have any food in this place, Hummel?” Santana adds.

~!~!~!~

By the end of the summer, Kurt and Mercedes are still the only people we’ve told. To their credit, they have managed to keep their mouths shut. Once in a while, Kurt will wink at us when Santana is sitting next to me at a party. Mercedes manages to finagle teams so that we end up together more often than not. It is in the simple things that show us that they have our backs.

We hang out with them more over the last six weeks of summer vacation. They aren’t quite the type of people that enjoy tanning by Santana’s pool, but we go to the movies or have marathons of Project Runway in Kurt’s basement on occasion. It’s nice being around people without having to worry about how many seconds our arms brushed for or wondering if people have noticed that Santana hasn’t made out with someone while drunk at a party all summer.

Santana picks me up for school on the first day back and I hop down the front steps, feeling the flaps of my Cheerio skirt swish against my bare thighs. It’s an instant signal of power and it should reassure me that everything is going to be like it always has been. Santana and I are officially co-captains after Coach’s announcement at training yesterday. We should be able to walk into that school and own it like we always have. 

Even the energy in the car on the ride to McKinley feels different. Santana has the radio cranked up and she taps her thumbs on the steering wheel to the beat of the song. But she’s not singing like she normally does. I figure it’s just due to how much we’ve grown up in the few short months since last school year. Plus, we’re finally upperclassmen. Despite the fact that we’ve ran the place since we were freshmen, there are definitely perks to being an upperclassman in the scheme of things.

We cross the parking lot together, Santana with her arms crossed tightly across the WMHS on her chest, me with my hands on my hips in a resumed HBIC stance. Timid freshmen eye us in horror and jump out of the way as we head through the double doors into the busy corridors. Brittany finds us almost immediately and we fall into step with one another like we never stopped. She is also sporting a golden summer tan and her blonde hair looks about three shades lighter from the days spent in the sun.

My backpack is filled with my labeled notebooks for all of my classes, so there’s really not a big need to stop at my locker, but I do anyway. My pictures from last year are still hanging inside and I mentally scan the ones on my phone from this summer to pick one to add to the collection. There are loose pens and pencils that were left behind littering the bottom and I close it again without adding or removing anything. 

Santana is leaning against her locker watching the hoards of people making their way down the hallway while Brittany talks her ear off. She notices me looking and gives me a devilish smirk and a wink as I make my way over to them. The three of us walk towards homeroom together: Brittany peeling off first after giving us each an excited squeeze, then Santana brushing her hand against mine quickly before she leaves me standing at the door to my own homeroom.

We get our final schedules after roll call and I glance down mine, knowing exactly what I signed up for last May: honors physics, honors calculus, honors Spanish, AP English literature, AP U.S. history, AP psychology, yearbook alternating with gym, and glee. It’s a full schedule and Miss Pillsbury seemed a little concerned that I was stretching myself too thin, but obviously she hasn’t even bothered to look at my transcript. I’ve been getting nearly perfect grades since the day I started kindergarten.

Calculus is my first class, and when I get there, Santana is already sitting at a desk near the back buffing her nails. I saunter back and sit next to her even though I hate being so far from the board. Santana never cares about actually being able to read what the teacher is writing, so it doesn’t matter to her. In the past, I would probably coax her to move up, but all of that melts away when she gives me a sneaky grin and gestures to the seat beside her.

She yanks my schedule out of my fingers and glances down it with a growing smile.

“That looks a lot like my schedule,” she says happily and hands it back to me along with her own schedule. Hers is crumpled up and has doodles down the margins already.

Santana is taking honors instead of AP English and she has a study hall in place of yearbook. Otherwise our schedules are identical.

“I thought you signed up to take yearbook with me,” I say, but I get cut off by our teacher starting class.

As soon as the bell rings, Santana hurries to gather her things.

“What happened to yearbook, San?” I ask, tossing my own notebook into my backpack.

“I’m taking a tough schedule and I thought study would be a nice break,” she responds with a shrug. I have to walk fast to keep up with her pace as we head for history.

“It’s just yearbook. We’ll get to pick the best pictures of us for the 6-page Cheerio spread.”

“I don’t care about yearbook. I’d rather have some down time. I already let you talk me into this stupid AP history class.”

Santana is obviously not in the mood to discuss her scheduling choices and she chooses a seat in the very last row of the history classroom. I’m left with the option of sitting next to her and having to squint for the entire year or sitting closer to the front and putting my actual learning ahead of the ridiculous games that my girlfriend is trying to play with me. Learning wins.

I don’t focus through most of class knowing that Santana is annoyed with me. It doesn’t even matter if I was right or wrong to question her about her schedule; I’m just upset that as soon as we’re back in this place the tiniest things get blown out of proportion. We haven’t fought in months and within 3 hours of being back at school, the problems are emerging.

Surprisingly, Santana waits for me to pack up my books when the bell rings at the end of our history class. I toss my pen carelessly into the bottom of the bag and zip it closed, rushing to meet her before she thinks better of it and takes off.

Our walk to psychology is a quiet one – I don’t know whether I really owe Santana an apology or if her waiting for me was her sign that it’s not a big deal. I hesitate when we enter the room, giving her a chance to pick a seat before I decide. For once, she doesn’t dart to the back of the room; instead, she slides down behind a desk in the third row in the aisle closest to the door.

I realize she’s compromising. I would choose a first or second row seat. She would opt for one as far away from the teacher as physically possible. We’re sitting in the middle and, despite her crossed arms and stiff posture – I know that Santana is pleased that I’m sitting beside her.

Once the teacher launches into the syllabus, I lose my focus on Santana. Psychology is actually a class I’ve been looking forward to taking and glancing down this year’s topic list only helps to fuel it. I’m enthralled by our teacher – a woman that looks like she just graduated from college who has zero fashion sense but enough enthusiasm and personality to make up for it.

With five minutes left in class, she instructs us to discuss our homework assignment with a partner. I immediately turn towards Santana to see her absorbed in a complex doodle on the last page of her notebook.

“What topic are you going to pick?” I ask, flipping through the handout. I have no idea what branch of psychology I want to research for my marking period project – they all sound interesting.

“Huh?” Santana remarks, glancing up from her doodle to find me staring at her. She looks at the handout clutched in front of me and scans the desk for her own copy. It’s shoved underneath her notebook and the corner is all bent from her haphazard nature. “What do we have to do?”

I sigh. I may love this girl, but we definitely don’t share the same enthusiasm for education.

“How do you even get by in honors classes?” I ask, pushing my bangs out of my face. Santana just shrugs.

“Guess I have a good tutor?” she tries to joke, but she does look at her handout, scanning the topic choices. “God, these all sound horribly boring.”

The bell rings and Santana looks relieved. She folds her handout in half and shoves it into her bag. I take the time to put mine neatly in my folder before packing up my backpack.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” she says at the doorway. I have to head to yearbook while she hangs out in the library for study hall.

“You should figure out what you’re going to do your project on,” I suggest. “Since you have this time in school to work on homework anyway.”

“Q, everybody knows that study hall is for gossiping,” Santana says purposefully. Despite her schedule being almost as hard as mine, she obviously has no intention of using her study hall to get a head start on her homework.

She turns and heads towards the library before I have a chance to respond. 

~!~!~!~

When I walk into Santana’s room after having dinner with my mom, she’s tossing around textbooks and muttering under her breath.

“I can’t find the stupid psychology assignment.” She flips through the pages of a notebook and tosses it onto the bed when it doesn’t reveal the handout.

I bite my tongue about her horrible organization skills – pointing it out will just push her into a rage – and I instead pick up her backpack and try to sift through discarded gum wrappers, chewed pen caps, and crumpled pieces of paper. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t cleaned out this abyss since freshman year and I wrinkle my nose as I push aside a half-eaten granola bar and extract a handful of papers.

None of them are the assignment. Santana has already given up and is sitting on her bed flipping through her physics textbook to find the homework. I figure if she’s done caring, there’s no need for me to do it for her.

I grab my own physics book and sit next to her, balancing the book on my knees. After a while, I glance over at where Santana is hunched over her own book. She’s scribbling the answers sloppily in her notebook, only showing half of the work. 

I’m a little jealous at her carefree way – she’ll be done an hour faster than me with her method and somehow she’ll pull off a grade equivalent to mine. My own work is shown neatly with spaces between each problem and the answers circled carefully. Granted, I only have three problems done compared to Santana’s ten.

“Hey, Q?” I look up from my equation. “I really don’t need a lecture on being more responsible and all that shit that I know you’re dying to give me, but can I borrow your psych stuff?”

I shove my folder towards her. “What are you going to do in college when we’re not in the same classes?” I ask. It’s not technically a lecture – it’s a question.

“I don’t know that I want to go to college.”

I drop my pencil onto my notebook with a light thud, causing my last answer to smear slightly. I focus on Santana’s hand, her knuckles white and tense against the dark blue of my folder.

“What do you plan to do without a college education?” I try to keep my tone even. Sure, it’s not the first time she’s alluded to the fact that she hates school. I just always figured she’d settle at a party school, put in her time for four years, and then move on.

“We’re still kids. Why do I need to know what I want to do for the rest of my life already?”

It’s a valid question, I suppose. Sixteen does feel young when I think about the fact that we’ll be working a lot longer than that.

I don’t have an answer for her. Part of me wants to spit out all of the things I’ve heard for years from my parents. Education and excellence were expectations, not choices. The idea of not going to college was completely foreign to me.

Sure, I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to major in yet, but there was some time to decide that still. But the idea of not getting at least a Bachelors degree seemed irresponsible and childish. Everybody knows that you can’t do anything without an education in this world.

“What will your parents say?”

“I’ll be eighteen. It won’t matter what they think,” she retorts.

“Your dad is a doctor and your mom literally tries to pay me for studying with you. Do you really think that you’ll be able to just walk away from your family because you’re being stubborn when they have your best interests at heart?”

“Who gets to decide what my best interest is? Oh right, that’s my job in my own life.”

I start chewing on my lip and I pick up my pencil. There’s no use arguing with Santana on this - she’s not going to see it from my view and I’m not going to suddenly think that it’s perfectly reasonable for someone of her intelligence to just decide to skip out on college.

I try to focus on the physics problems, but Santana is antsy beside me. Finally she gives up acting like she’s actually doing her homework and starts playing a game on her cell phone.

Our dynamic is off. There are things we disagree on, things we fight about. I mean, I’ll never understand how she can put hot sauce on everything or why she feels the need to shoplift on occasion when she has plenty of money to pay for a tube of lip gloss.

Santana will probably never understand why I feel the need to still measure up to what my parents have always expected. She doesn’t get why I actually need a different notebook for every class, even though by June, none of them are ever full. 

We accept the little things about each other. I’d take all of her little habits that grate on my every last nerve. And we’re young. I know that it shouldn’t matter what Santana wants to do over a year from now. It’s not like we’re in a stage that we’re talking about the future. It shouldn’t matter that we don’t see eye-to-eye on every little thing.

But it does matter. And I hate that it matters.

“Where do you think this is going?” I ask.

“What the hell, Q? Seriously, we’re not even seventeen and you want to know how our entire life plays out. I can’t do this right now.”

“Fine.” I climb off of the side of the bed and grab my books. Santana is back to playing with her phone before I even have a chance to shove them in my backpack. She lets me walk straight out of her room with another word.

The walk to my house is short with my angry, brisk pace. I storm up to my bedroom and yank my books out to finish my homework so that I can keep myself from turning around and attempting to deal with this when neither of us is ready to do so.

Of course, I left my psychology folder at Santana’s house, so I do everything else before collapsing back onto my bed.

The first day of junior year is finished. There are 179 days left to survive through. Junior year was supposed to be about living up the life that comes with being an upperclassman. I had been at the top of the social pyramid pretty much since the moment I had walked out onto the field for the first Cheerio tryout. 

There was something special about being popular, but it was easy to forget all of that with Santana. The big nights out after football games never measure up to a night on the couch eating Chinese food with Santana’s icy cold feet searching for warmth under my legs.

I hate that no matter what happens, my entire high school career is going to be defined by Santana. She’s everywhere and I know that somehow it’s always going to be that way - even if she’s haunting me as a ghost.

I can’t escape Santana and the insane pull she has on me. I’m never going to be able to do so.

I forgot my psych folder.

So it’s a lame excuse to try to talk to her. But this fight is ridiculous in the first place. The future isn’t set in stone. Santana could change her mind about throwing away her entire life.

I’ll give it to you tomorrow. I think you can manage one night of procrastinating. It’ll probably be good for you to not be so uptight for once.

Santana is resorting to pointing out character flaws. It’s typical for her and I’ve watched her do it a million times. She’s a genius when it comes to finding people’s worst traits and highlighting them. Sometimes it honestly seems on the level of a superpower. 

But when she puts it to use on me, it’s nothing short of infuriating.

I set my alarm and plug the phone in, not bothering to respond.

This isn’t something that can be dealt with tonight.

Maybe the second day of school will be better than the first.


	20. Chapter 20

Santana’s POV

I text Quinn to tell her I’m running late and that she should probably just go to school by herself. She doesn’t respond, though I’m not really expecting her to do so after how we left things last night. I actually am running late - it’s not just an excuse - but I’m sure that Quinn probably thinks I just said it as a way of getting out of an awkward car ride.

With a note from my mom - forged, obviously, my mom would never have actually let me sleep through my alarm and still stop for coffee on the way to school - I show up to calculus twenty minutes late. The only seat open is the one I sat in yesterday, which is directly next to Quinn. She doesn’t bother to look up from where she’s furiously scribbling notes as I saunter down the aisle and plop into the seat next to her. Even though there’s still half an hour left in class, I don’t bother to take out a notebook or pencil. I sip my coffee and half-listen to whatever the old geezer is rambling on about.

The bell rings and I pick up my bag from where I had abandoned it on the floor and wait for Quinn to reorganize her belongings. She moves slowly, almost like she’s hoping I’ll give up waiting and head to history without her. Despite my annoyance with her last night, I don’t feel even the slightest urge to walk to class without her.

Our walk is silent and sort of awkward, but Quinn walks with her head-bitch strut and mows down freshmen with her glare. It’s something I haven’t seen in a while - I think that getting laid regularly actually has softened her deep down - and it’s kind of intimidating to see how quickly it returns. I don’t have the mindset to do the same, so I just stroll along beside her, my hands clutching the straps of my backpack.

The bell rings as soon as we enter the history classroom and Quinn scuttles into her seat near the front. Against my better interests of lounging in the back, I slide into the seat directly behind her. The boy that sat there yesterday sighs when he sees me but doesn’t argue with me. At least I’m still intimidating in some ways.

I don’t pay attention. I hate history. Really, I don’t enjoy school much in general. But I like the view of blonde hair in front of me, tucked over Quinn’s right shoulder. I want to lean forward and kiss the tiny expanse of exposed neck, I want to whisper dirty things in her ear that would make her cheeks flush bright red, I want to pull her attention away from the overweight, sweaty man standing behind the podium and put it back on me.

“Quinn, can we talk?” I hiss as I wait yet again for her to pack up her books. She shoves her binder into her backpack and yanks the zipper closed before she stands up and looks at me.

“Not while we’re at school,” she replies simply. The room is empty but I ball my hands into fists to refrain from reaching forward and pushing her bangs out of her eyes. Moments like this makes me wish we could just be open like the other couples that are making out against lockers and in dark corners of the stairwells. Nothing about us is normal or easy. As if high school isn’t difficult enough to survive, everything seems to be so much harder with Quinn.

When we venture into the hallway again, her hand brushes against mine for the briefest of seconds before she plants it on her hip. It’s so short that I almost think that I imagined it. I know it can’t be intentional; Quinn would never do that in such a crowded place when she hardly even lets us stand next to one another at a party. Yet, that tiny graze of skin contact makes my whole arm tingle with warmth and throws my concentration - not that there was much to start with - straight off a cliff.

I return Quinn’s folder when we sit down in psychology. She gives me a weak smile, almost like she wasn’t expecting me to remember. I lose my own assignments all the time, but Quinn treats her school supplies like they’re the holy grail and I don’t mess with that shit.

Of course, I don’t have my own handouts and have to ask the teacher for new ones. She leers at me, already labeling me as the irresponsible kid of the class before she even really knows me. The school is small enough that my reputation typically precedes me so I don’t get all bent out of shape over it. I’m never the kind of kid that teachers like, no matter how many hours I spend glued to Quinn’s side.

Quinn seems oddly satisfied by the fact that I look like a dumbass on the second day of school, so I make a point of putting them neatly into a folder and rolling my eyes as she watches.

Psych is a pretty easy subject and I can just listen and absorb. My dad says it’s a soft science and a waste of time, though he feels that way about most things that might cause me to stray from his pre-determined path. I’m expected to major in a hard science - something like biology or chemistry - on my way to perfect grades and medical school. None of it is going to happen. I don’t want anything to do with medical school, no matter how much he threatens that he’s not going to pay for me to screw around with some liberal arts bullshit.

I told Quinn that I don’t want to go to college. Right now, that feels true. But part of me knows that we’re young and that none of us really have any clue of what we want to do. Quinn is on track for a top college just because she always feels the need to outdo her sister and try to please her father.

College would be fun. There would be crazy parties and sleeping late and not having to answer to anybody by myself. The idea of it sounds fantastic, especially if it’s anything like it is in the movies. But the idea of wasting four more years stuck at a desk learning enough to pass a test sounds like my worst idea of torture.

I have talents. I was a gymnast before I was I was a Cheerio. I have a killer singing voice and awesome stage presence. I probably could act or dance if I put the time in to learn. I don’t need to go to college to be independent. All it takes is one good break and I’ll be out of this town, never bothering to look back.

The bell rings and I jump up, realizing that I had zoned out for the majority of the lesson. I glance up at the board to see our teacher writing up the homework and I watch as Quinn writes it in her planner neatly so that she doesn’t forget about it. I don’t waste my time because I know she’ll nag me about it a million times before it’s due anyway.

It’s my first period away from Quinn. She says goodbye and heads in the opposite direction to go to yearbook. I saunter in the direction of the library for study hall.

Tina is sitting at the table we had claimed for ourselves yesterday and, despite her reputation as a nerd, nobody challenges her for it. I drop my bag on the table and sit across from her, not bothering to take out any work. Tina takes study as an excuse to get her work done. The rest of us - Brittany, Mercedes, and I - care much more about having the period to kick back during the day. Unfortunately, Tina has no backbone and her books get left forgotten as soon as the other two join us.

I have a ton of work to do but Brittany starts telling us all about how Puck got thrown out of Algebra today. Mr. Schue is going to kill him for getting detention and having to miss glee rehearsal already, but the story itself is worth the amusement. It makes me wish I was in regular classes where there were people to goof around with in the back row. My parents would never buy it, but honors classes are boring as hell and way too serious for me.

Quinn is still in the zone through lunch - she sits at their table with a book propped up against a water bottle as she picks at her salad. Everybody else is still gossiping about how people look after their return from summer and talking about the first football game and things that actually matter to normal high school students. I join in, glad to share any gossip I’ve picked up in the Cheerio locker room. 

I sigh when the bell rings, signifying the start of my afternoon torture: Spanish with Quinn, followed by English alone, and then glee to end the day before dragging my ass to Cheerio practice. Quinn doesn’t wait for me - she darts out of the cafeteria before I can say anything. I follow the crowd and head for Spanish alone.

Mr. Schue welcomes me in a horribly fake accent. I roll my eyes and don’t respond as I make my way to a table in the back. Quinn slips in just as the bell is ringing, but Mr. Schue just smiles at her and gestures towards a seat in the front row, which she takes immediately, even though the other spot of my table is unoccupied.

Spanish is the one class that I can completely coast in, thanks to my Abuela insisting that I speak Spanish around her growing up. Mr. Schue pretty much ignores my existence in the back of the room - I think he’s afraid that I could do a better job teaching the class than he can - and I’m happy to be ignored as long as I get an easy A. Since I have the whole table to myself and no judgmental Quinn is sitting next to me, I take advantage of the time by drawing ridiculous cartoon sketches of the kids in our class.

The period drags on forever - I guess that’s what happens when I don’t have Quinn next to me. Even when she’s paying attention and taking notes, I catch her smiling at my doodles when she glances over. It’s a relief when the bell finally rings. Quinn beats me to the door, but we have different classes next anyway, so I don’t rush to catch up to her in the hallway.

I actually have to do work in English - we’re writing in-class essays for the whole first week of school. I have Mercedes in this class and we whisper back and forth while scribbling away at our ridiculous busy work. The teacher scowls in our direction, but doesn’t formally reprimand us since we’re technically doing our assignment and most teachers are scared of Sylvester’s wrath if they mistreat one of her precious Cheerios.

Mercedes and I walk to glee together after English, stopping first at her locker then my own. We’re the last two to arrive to the choir room besides Puck, but he’s probably pleading with Figgins to get out detention for his mishap in Algebra this morning. Mr. Schue is busy flirting with Miss Pillsbury, who is whispering to him by his office door, her ears tinted pink.

“Oh, gross,” I say loudly to nobody in particular. Artie chuckles and makes an obscene hand gesture that makes me want to vomit in my mouth. Kurt is already too wrapped up in gossiping with Mercedes and Brittany to even acknowledge my presence. As always, Rachel is sitting at the piano and is warming up with her ridiculous scales. Quinn, like usual, is in the back row with her nose shoved into a crumbly, old novel that looks like the pages are about to fall out of it. I sit next to her and she doesn’t bother to look up from her current page. I huff and pull out my cell phone to kill the time until class actually starts.

It’s five minutes later before Rachel manages to get Mr. Schue’s attention so that we can get going with our stupid lesson of the week trend. He starts rambling about Nationals being in New York this year and how we need to recruit new members. Rachel is on the edge of her seat clinging to Mr. Schue’s every word with Finn obediently perched beside her like a well-behaving, over-grown Saint Bernard puppy. Considering we didn’t even make it to Nationals last year, I feel like we should be focusing on actually winning Sectionals and Regionals first before we care about fundraising for plane tickets to New York.

Rachel has this insane idea that since the club has managed to survive a whole year without being completely destroyed that somehow we’ve moved up from being the lowest rung of the McKinley social ladder. Apparently the absence of her annual first day of school slushie facial - due to Puck and I intimidating the popular kids into leaving her alone - has made Rachel believe that glee club might actually be kind of cool now.

Nobody feels like trying to tell her that she’s still a huge loser. Instead, we all give into her plans for a big, over-the-top number during lunch in the courtyard as a recruitment performance.

At least it’s a cool song choice. We get to work on breaking up different parts and figuring out choreography while Mr. Schue flits about, acting over-enthusiastic as usual. Quinn sticks by Brittany’s side as they go over steps and I get roped into helping Rachel with vocal arrangements, so the most I see her is from stolen glances across the room.

When glee is over, Brittany, Quinn and I gather our stuff and hustle down to the gym for Cheerio practice. The girls are still loitering in the locker room, but as soon as they see Quinn’s blonde ponytail pass through the door, they jump up into action. They know if Quinn beats them onto the field that they’ll be running until they puke.

It’s funny that Quinn can command the whole group without uttering a single word. Her presence intimidates them into submission without her even throwing them a glare. I’ve always found her intriguing, from that first day of Cheerio tryouts until now, but I can’t say that she’s ever really had that intimidation over me. I guess it’s because I always knew that we would challenge one another but we always had the chance to be on equal footing. And sure, I was pissed when Sylvester promoted her to Head Cheerio at first, but I know it’s just because Sylvester knows Quinn is better at being a puppet for her ridiculous schemes.

I’m okay with riding Quinn’s coattails straight out of Lima. She’s going to make it out of this town without a doubt in anybody’s mind. Besides Rachel Berry and her insane obsession with Broadway stages, Quinn is the most driven person I’ve ever met. I’m technically a Head Cheerio now too, but nobody really pays me any attention when Quinn is in the same room. I’m oddly okay with that.

I head over to my own locker to drop off my bag before making my way to the field. It’s a fun game to see if I can beat the girls there just so that they get their asses kicked by Drill Sergeant Quinn. Brittany is on the field skipping around and loosening her muscles up, even though she just spent an hour dancing at glee club. The other girls hang around in a circle, gossiping in hushed whispers. I roll my eyes at them and tighten my ponytail. I don’t intervene or comment - it’s much more fun to watch Quinn in action than it is to whip them into shape myself.

Quinn appears a minute later and the group disperses immediately and heads for the track before she can even get onto the field. I don’t bother following them - it’s not like Quinn has any sort of control over me now that we’re co-captains. She tosses her bag next to the bleachers and walks over to me, her hand purposefully on her hip. I hate that she refuses to actually look at me, choosing instead to watch our team running their warm-up laps intently.

“You want to come to my place after practice?” I ask casually, crossing my arms across the polyester chest of my Cheerio uniform.

“I have a ton of homework,” she muses. It’s not a straight declination of my question, but she might as well just say no with what her tone is insinuating.

Sylvester appears before I can try to reason with her and Quinn blows her whistle loudly to round up the team. She walks away from me without a word, putting the space of the entire team between us.

Brittany sidles up to my side and runs her fingers down my forearm as Sylvester yells at us through her megaphone. It gives me chills and I try to suppress my shiver. Her touch feels so unfamiliar after all these months, yet I’m soothed by her innate ability to know when I’m on the verge of exploding. She’s always been able to read my emotions naturally, ever since we were little kids.

Quinn is standing a few girls in front of us and I let my eyes drag down the curve of her back and over the pleats of her skirt. I hate the distance between us right now, both physically and emotionally. I hate how fucking dramatic everything has to be in high school. 

I don’t have much time to wallow in how shitty life is right now because Sylvester stops her tirade and puts us to work on a new routine that involves unicycles. It’s kind of hard to worry about my relationship problems when I’m trying to not fall on my ass every two seconds.

The unicycles are about the worst thing we’ve done in Cheerios and I’m in a horrible mood by the time Coach Sylvester finally shouts at us to hit the showers. I take off as soon as her voice stops ringing through the megaphone, wanting to reach the locker room before she can decide that she needs to torture Quinn and I for an extra amount of time.

I’m the first one showered and changed, but I linger on the bench in front of my locker, waiting for Quinn to emerge. The rest of the locker room has cleared out by the time I finally hear her shower turn off and the door squeak as she heads for her locker.

She looks surprised to see me sitting on the bench when she turns the corner, but her face quickly turns into a frown.

“What are you still doing here?” she hisses quietly, surveying the room to see if anybody else is still around.

“Chill, Q. Everybody is gone for the day already.”

“Exactly. They all saw you sitting around waiting for me. God, why do you have to make everything so much more difficult than it needs to be, Santana?”

I want to just punch a locker with how frustrated I feel. Quinn has pretty much avoided me all day after our ridiculous spat last night and now she’s just picking another fight for no reason. 

I find myself wishing for the summer again, where we could hide out and stop worrying every second. Life isn’t supposed to be so complicated when we have everything going for us. We’re the kinds of kids that everybody else wishes they could be in high school. Fuck, Quinn changed everything about herself just to be this person that everybody in school either envied or wanted to be.

“Can I come over?” I ask her, ignoring her growing rage at my apparent inability to hide our relationship from the rest of the team.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Quinn spits back, turning away from me to get dressed and collect her belongings from her locker.

“Quinn, this is silly. Nobody thought anything of me waiting for my co-captain. Nobody thinks about what we’re doing for a second unless it actually concerns them.” Quinn pulls her t-shirt over her head and turns back to face me.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Santana. Eyes are always on us. There’s no escape from it when we’re here. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that people don’t take notice of everything we do in these hallways. JewFro tried to interview me about the reason why we didn’t carpool together this morning. So don’t tell me that nobody thinks about our every move, because they do.”

I roll my eyes and lean back on the bench with a sigh.

“JewFro is a perv that will use any excuse to try and get a camera shot of your spanks.”

“His website is incredibly accurate about what goes on around here. People actually read it. And I’m not going to let some ridiculous slip-up destroy us when we’ve got the entire school eating out of the palms of our hands.”

“What slip-up, Quinn? You had no problem with me during school yesterday, but then all of a sudden you’ve gone batshit crazy since I told you we might have different ambitions in life.”

“This isn’t the place for this conversation, Santana,” Quinn comments coldly, cutting me off.

“Then just let me come over,” I respond, pulling myself up from the bench so we’re at nearly the same height again.

“Fine, whatever. Just leave now and I’ll meet you there.”

I huff and picks up my bag, but don’t bother to respond. Quinn is ready to leave and it’s past six o’clock, so it’s not like there’s anybody around to notice that we’re walking together to our cars. However, it’s easier to just do what Quinn says so that I can still see her in the privacy of her bedroom in a little while.

I let the door to the locker room slam closed behind me, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. The parking lot is pretty much empty and I drop my bag into the passenger seat before walking around the car to the driver side. I delay as long as possible before I put the key into the ignition and let the engine roar to life. Quinn still hasn’t emerged from the building so I peel out of the parking lot, figuring I’ll grab something to eat on my way to her house.

By the time I pull up to Quinn’s house, her car is in the driveway. I stuff the last few fries from the McDonald’s bag into my mouth and down it with a sip of Diet Coke before I turn off the car and head for the front door. Even though Quinn knows I’m coming, I ring the doorbell just because Mrs. Fabray’s car is parked next to Quinn’s.

It’s Mrs. Fabray who answers the door, not Quinn. I put on my best smile and stand up a little bit straighter.

“Santana,” she says in her typical formal charm. “Quinnie did not tell me we were expecting guests.”

“Sorry, Mrs. F. Quinn said she’d help me with my history assignment tonight.”

“Of course, dear. Come on in. I just made some chicken casserole, would you like some?”

“No thanks, Mrs. F, I just ate dinner.” I hope that I don’t smell like the greasy quarter pounder that I ate in about five bites on the drive over.

Mrs. Fabray ushers me up the stairs to Quinn’s bedroom with the promise that she’ll check on us in a little while to see if we need anything.

Quinn is sitting at her desk, head hunched over a book. I walk into her room uninvited and close the heavy wooden door behind me, giving us at least a tiny bit of privacy. She spins in her chair, though her face gives nothing away about her current mood. Based on how we left things in the locker room, I figure it’s safe to err on the side of assuming she’s still pissy with me.

“Hey.”

She rolls her eyes like she feels that I’m wasting her time with simple pleasantries. The truth is, I don’t know what to say because I don’t know what she wants to hear from me.

“What is it that you needed to say, Santana? I have a ton of work to get done. I’m not going to spend all night doing this with you.”

I take a deep breath and sit down on the edge of her bed. What is there to really say? That we’re still kids and we shouldn’t even be thinking about a future yet when we need to survive high school first? That my dreams didn’t need to involve her when I was supposed to be a selfish teenager still?

“Please don’t be mad at me.” It’s avoiding the issues altogether but I don’t know how to be the person that she wants me to be. To be honest, I’m not even sure who it is that she hopes I am.

Quinn looks flat-out exasperated by me and it makes my whole body tense uncomfortably.

“Things are a lot more complicated than you like to pretend they are,” Quinn tells me, standing up from her chair and pacing along the plush carpet in front of me.

“Everything seems complicated because we’re young and have nothing better to do than focus on the drama,” I retort, twisting my fingers into the hem of my t-shirt.

“I just don’t get you, Santana. I thought we were on the same page, but apparently we’re anything but that.”

“Because I’m not sure that I want to follow in my dad’s footsteps? Because the last thing I want is to go away to some ridiculous state school for four years while my dad crows over my need for perfect grades so that he can send me to a good medical school before I return to work under him in Lima? I don’t think that it’s so horrible of me to want to be able to plan my own life out instead of being told how to live it.”

“You act like you’re the only one with any pressure in your life,” Quinn says quietly, stopping in her pacing. She turns slowly on her heels until she’s looking at me. “Do you think it was easy to disappoint my father the way I did after all these years I’ve spent desperately fighting for his approval? Do you think my mother is going to be satisfied if I end up doing anything less impressive than my sister?”

I reach for her hand, but she ignores it, choosing to cross her arms over her chest instead. I watch her, my heart pounding with all of the emotions that I didn’t know how to handle. It’s what drew me to Quinn - the way we were so incredibly different, but that she still understood the parts of me that I struggled to ignore. We were the same person in the little, possibly meaningless ways.

There’s a knock on the door and then Mrs. Fabray’s hand pushes the door open without any real chance for us to act like we were actually studying together.

“Is everything okay up here, girls?” she asks, glancing around. My backpack is still sitting by the door, untouched.

“We’re fine, mom. Santana was just helping me with some verb tenses for Spanish. I have an oral exam next week and it’s easier to converse with someone that actually speaks the language than to study from a textbook.”

Mrs. Fabray seems to buy it and she exchanges a few more words with Quinn before disappearing again. I hop to my feet, figuring there’s no use in me staying much longer as we’re not actually going to really solve anything between us with Mrs. Fabray acting like a hawk.

“Don’t go,” Quinn whispers, taking two steps towards me. I could reach out and touch her, pull her into me and not let her go. I don’t though. I stay glued to the spot, my arms hanging uselessly at my sides, scared to make another wrong move.

“Then we should study,” I tell her, turning towards where my bag is resting by the door. She exhales as I move towards it, scooping it up and going back to rest on her bed.

She doesn’t fight me on it. It’s an unspoken agreement to drop our issues for the time being. We’re young and in love and hiding from the world. There’s already too many things going against us that not being on the same side is going to eventually destroy us. So sure, nothing is perfect and we’re young and stupid and completely naive, but it’s easier to ignore whatever bigger issues we have, at least for the time being.

Quinn picks up her history book and joins me on the bed, the two of us lounging on our stomachs side-by-side. We slip back into the simple things - gossiping about our classmates as we outline the chapter together, Quinn whining about my messy scribbles on my sections, while her notes look meticulous. 

Every once in a while, her feet brush against mine with casual innocence that reminds me of the early months of our friendship. I resist the urge to roll her over on top of the books and kiss her senseless with every ounce of passion that’s been boiling since our first kiss, a desire that has only grown over time into something much more than just hormones and excitement.

It’s nearly nine when we finally close our books and Quinn pushes them aside before letting her hand rest on mine gently. I don’t move; I just let her hand sit on mine limply, letting the warmth melt into me.

“I don’t know how to live in the moment,” Quinn admits, her gaze staying firmly ahead.

I have no idea what to say to her, how to tell her that we all have our weaknesses, that we all feel the pressure of meeting the expectations set for us. So I turn my hand over, so that her hand rests in my palm and I squeeze her fingers in mine. It’s the only reassurance I can offer her - that I’m still here.


End file.
